Noble Intentions
by CarolNJoy
Summary: Book II: In a final attempt to purge the last of his feelings for Babette, Lumière reunites with his old friend, Nicolas, for a well-deserved holiday. Meanwhile, Babette continues to grapple with her decision as she finds herself caught between two loves.
1. Water under the Bridge

**_A/N:_** _Hello again!  
_

 _After numerous months of drafting points for the plot of this book, I have a solid enough idea to start publishing! Hooray!_

 _As you may have figured out, this is the sequel to my story,_ Noble Sentiments. _I've been looking forward to this book since I conceived it, so I cannot wait to write it!_ _Fair warning though: Due to the fact that I am a recent college undergrad prepping for grad school, chapters may be few and far between. But know that when I have spare time (and spare energy... and brain capacity), I will be working to complete this!_

 _I'm picking up a few months after its ending, but what had happened in-between the ending and the "present" of this book will eventually be revealed._

 _Another huge thanks to phoenixsoul13 for beta-ing!_

 _Feedback is always welcome. I hope you enjoy!  
_

* * *

 _ **Noble Intentions**_

 _Chapter One: Water under the Bridge_

 _April, 1740_

Gentle rain tapped rhythmically against the glass panes of le Château du Lac. Easter had come and passed. The château now empty again, its residents, royalty and servants alike, could take a well-deserved day of rest to recuperate from the festivities and events of Holy Week.

With this major point of focus gone, Lumière's mind became restless once more. Months had gone by: three and a half, almost four. Spring had arrived. Refreshing rain had swept in to wash away the memories of winter. The castle continued to be as bustling as ever. Easter had taken over a month of preparations, a task Lumière had wholeheartedly welcomed. With plenty to do, there was no time to think. With no time to think, there was no time to remember.

Lumière watched the rain patter lazily against his chamber window. Maybe it could not cleanse him while he remained inside.

He followed where his feet took him, the stables becoming his pinnacle of focus for the brief time it took to get there. As he entered them, the smell of straw tinged with soaked wood met his nostrils. The sound of the rain felt more soothing out here, and he allowed himself a deep breath of the clean air to absorb what he could of his surroundings.

He thoughtfully stepped to the edge of the stables, stopping at the blurry wall of ever-falling droplets as he let himself lean against a post. Staring out at pale grey clouds and evergreen trees in the distance, he thought about all of the time wasted—no… _yes_ , wasted—contemplating all of the memories of those short several weeks that still made him feel a rush of want and passion, that still made him regret and kick himself, and made him smile and laugh. Whenever he felt he was finally beginning to move on, the thought of her name or a flash of her face would dart across his mind, and he would have to resign to the fact that he was not ready. How much time did it take? How much time would he need? Each day this went on, he felt weaker, because if he was strong enough, this would all be behind him by now.

It was like he was suffering from a mental block, but of his heart. He did not feel anything the same as before. Not for his work, and not for women. Though he was eating the same diet as always, the taste was dulled. Colors appeared monochrome. When he wanted to really _feel,_ he wasn't able, and he couldn't force himself to be. The passion he had felt for what he did had faded somehow. He knew it was there still. It had to be. But how could he access that part of himself again when he did not know how?

He had failed on his own to overcome this heartache, despite having suffered from a broken heart before. But none of those previous were of this magnitude, he realized. Still, no matter how much he spoke of his problem to those he trusted, like Mrs. Potts or Angélique, their advice and comforting words could not cure him.

What was it then? Was he holding himself back? Still hoping that it was possible? That she would spurn her title and return to him? No, because that would be ridiculous. _He_ would not even approve of those actions, because that would mean she had abandoned her family and bloodline, along with her duties as a future countess. There were plenty of things he would do for love, but there was a line—

Wait, _love?_

At this point, Lumière did not know what it was: love or an obsession with a ghost. It had been so long since she had left that what he imagined could be the compilation of what he believed her to be, which was everything he could want in a woman. She was now a figment of his love-addled mind, a fantasy that could bring him no tangible joy in the present or his future.

It was time. It was more than the right time.

Withdrawing a hand from his pocket, he timidly immersed it in the rain, letting the drops fall and trickle off of his palm. Taking another full breath of the world around him, he brought out his other hand, cupping the water until it overflowed and then splashing it on his face.

It was cold and crisp but it felt renewing. Perhaps not as significant or potent as a baptism, but it was a kind of cleansing that left him feeling as though he could truly start fresh, and go back to living in the present like he had always done.

He wiped the excess water from his eyes and chin, shaking it off of his fingers. Heading to return inside, he spotted the burly, chestnut stallion looking over at him curiously. A gloved hand petted his nose, and a pair of light blue eyes over scarlet lips turned to face him.

Lumière shook his head, furiously using his sleeve to mop his face dry. Opening his eyes, the vision was gone. The stallion huffed and nodded at him as though to say, _What's the matter with you?_

The maître d' raised an eyebrow at the horse, rather peeved at himself. _Don't ask._

The stallion stared after him as he strode back into the château while the tip-tapping of the rain continued to create music on the stable roof.

* * *

" _Do not utter a_ word _," Cogsworth made sure to order, approaching Lumière at his full height._

 _Lumière was at a loss for words to begin with. After the nobles had left on Christmas Day, he had just entered the library in the hopes of finding seclusion only to find he had been in pursuit by none other than Cogsworth. Not to mention this was the fiercest the majordomo had ever appeared._

" _Lumière," he began, his voice low. "I have managed this household for six years, and before that, I was Her Majesty's head of affairs for five. For eleven years, I have put in all of my efforts into this regime to make my Queen and King's lives as blissful and easy as is within my power; all of the servants here are under my meticulous supervision, just as the counts and barons of the province are under Their Majesties." His eyes bore down on the maître d'. "There was one girl—_ one _—that was under both_ _mine_ and _Their Majesties' protection._ One _girl that was within your reach yet you had no right to. In all of my days, in England and France, this is by far, the_ most _intolerable and_ disrespectful _transgression I have ever had the misfortune of being in authority over." A threatening finger was pointed at Lumière's heart. "You_ will _be reprimanded for this."_

 _Over the course of Cogsworth's speech, Lumière was stunned at not only the majordomo's words, but the deadly expression he wore. He had never seen him so furious. But at the mention of Babette, whatever anger Cogsworth felt was matched._

" _Fine!" Lumière cried, letting his vexation overflow. "Tie me to the post and give me forty lashes! Or hook me to a wagon and let the horse drag me through the mud all the way to Paris. Oh! I know: Use the Christmas trees to make a crucifix! Whatever punishment you deem_ worthy _could not be worse than what I now feel."_

" _Oh, you melodramatic, selfish_ ninny! _" Cogsworth exclaimed, his volume rising. "This isn't about_ you! _It never was! All she had to do was live and work here, as her parents bid me, and_ you _couldn't keep your womanizing nose out of her business! I told you, Lumière, I_ told _you specifically and in crystal clear terms that she was an_ aristocrat! _A daughter of a_ count! _Only a_ cad _would continue to pursue a woman_ far _out of his league, in breeding_ and _decency—!"_

 _Lumière burst out laughing. Was he really having this conversation? "Do you think that never occurred to me? That I_ chose _to feel this way?_ _Of_ course, _she was above me! She is a goddess compared to what I am."_

 _His flushed face almost a shade of purple, Cogsworth bellowed, "Then_ what were you thinking? _"_

 _The words caught in his throat. Lumière turned away, running his hands through his hair agitatedly and straightening his vest, anything to keep his hands busy and distracted. The truth, that he could love her, hit him like a sucker punch to the stomach._

 _Cogsworth glared at the pacing maître d', eyes narrowing. "Exactly as I suspected: Nothing."_

 _Lumière turned on him, staring daggers. "Excuse me?"_

" _As you've shown time and again, you think nothing of the consequences of your actions, ever since you set foot in this castle! With all that you've done, I certainly have the grounds to dismiss you permanently."_

 _Lumière's glare waned, the severity of this argument finally coming upon him. "You would fire me?"_

 _Cogsworth briefly glanced away, but overcame his hesitation. "Despite your work in the kitchens, this can outweigh it all. You did more than disrespect me, Lumière. You disrespected the Chantemerle, not only at the ball, but this morning, keeping Babette from leaving!"_

 _He couldn't let Cogsworth make him feel guilty for his feelings, not more than he already did. Passion reigniting, he voiced, "If you could even_ begin _to comprehend the dearest affection I have for her—"_

 _The library's door opened, and both servants swiveled their heads to it and froze._

" _Your Majesty," they acknowledged in unison._

" _Gentlemen," Queen Beatrice replied, entering the library carefully as she sensed the tension that vibrated between them. She smiled as both relaxed their clenched fists and fighting stances to bow respectfully. "What seems to be the trouble?"_

 _Before Lumière could get a word in edgewise, Cogsworth stepped forward. "Your Grace, I hope we did not disturb you. I recognize that perhaps our… argument was not at an appropriate volume, and I first wish to beg your pardon on my carelessness."_

" _Of course, Cogsworth, there was no harm in it," the Queen pardoned with fondness._

" _Thank you, Mistress," he said with an inclination of his head. "Now, to the trouble that you had addressed, I can point no further than to this man." And he aimed a finger in Lumière's direction._

" _Wait!" the maître d' blurted. This misunderstanding had to end before a livelihood was ended, and frankly, Lumière couldn't bear to lose the only part of himself he had left. "Please, Your Grace, I know I cannot undo what's been done, but I implore you to sympathize—"_

" _Lumière," the Queen interrupting, but not unkindly. With keen eyes, she nodded to him. "If you could excuse us, I believe you deserve some rest after the trying holiday you've had."_

 _Though hesitant and fearful, Lumière consented humbly, "As you command,_ ma reine _."_

 _As he took his leave, the Queen gave him a subtle wink before he passed her._

"Lumière."

He looked up to find Angélique had been walking in stride with him trying to get his attention.

She smiled at his quizzical expression. "Still living in your mind, are we?" He rolled his eyes, but she added, "Honestly, I never knew you were capable of being this pensive."

Though he glared, a flicker of a smile was visible. "To what do I owe this particular pleasure, Angélique?"

She observed his façade for a moment. His hands were clasped professionally behind his back, and he walked as tall and straight as was characteristic of him, which was a large improvement from several weeks ago. His face even seemed relaxed, yet there was still that contemplative line set between his eyebrows. The eyes were the telling feature, and his grey ones still lacked the same alertness and sparkle that she had known him to always possess. _I hope this will help him…_

Angélique cleared her throat nonchalantly. "I have not been to check on you recently, with all that went on to prepare for Easter…" She glanced up for any physical responses. "How are you?"

The maître d' shrugged. "As well as I can be." Noticing that she seemed to be treading on eggshells, he glanced sideways at her, inquiring, "Would there be a specific reason for you to ask?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Other than the fact that you were practically sleep-walking a moment ago?"

Trying to restrain any indignation, he defended, "What else can you expect? This holiday took all of the energy I could spare."

"Oh, of course. I do not doubt that," she agreed knowingly. "It _has_ been unending chaos around here, hasn't it? I could barely read a page of my novel until yesterday."

"You have let a book gather dust on your nightstand?" he inquired with teasing awe. "I can hardly imagine!"

Despite herself, Angélique laughed a little with him, but then sighed, deciding to be straightforward. "All right, look… I know you are getting better, and it shows, but I can tell that you are still not… quite there yet." Empathy was imminent in her bright blue eyes. "She is still on your mind."

Lumière fought back an exasperated retort. His impulse was to become defensive, but he knew he shouldn't be upset with her for bringing about the subject again, as tired as he was of it. She was only trying to help. Instead, he was angrier with himself for the fact that her words rang true.

After swallowing his bitter reply, he managed calmly, "I am well aware." He forced himself to look her in the eye. "What would you suggest?"

"Well…" She came to a halt, and Lumière followed her eyes to the polished mahogany door of Cogsworth's study. "He might have something that could give you that little push," she concluded, smiling assuredly. A skeptical glance prompted her to place an encouraging hand on his shoulder. "Trust me; it'll be a pleasant surprise."

"Perhaps you should go before you raise my expectations," he advised with his classic smirk.

Happy to see a glimpse at his old self, Angélique imparted, "You won't be disappointed," before, with a twirl of her periwinkle blue skirt, she was running off to another errand.

Turning to the majordomo's door, Lumière felt himself stumped at what Cogsworth could possibly have to make his situation any easier. It certainly wouldn't be advice. Cogsworth had avoided having any handle on what Lumière had been going through, for multiple reasons.

The majordomo had never liked to involve himself in the private lives of his staff, especially Lumière's. He was a strictly professional man, but he was indeed capable of caring a great deal for others, most notably King Vincent and Queen Beatrice. It was even pointed out by some servants that had witnessed it that he had some affection for the Prince as well. But when it came to romantic relations… No one knew a thing. Did he ever have a love in his life, other than his work? Being as conservative as he was, the very insinuation of a man and a woman together caused the instinct of fleeing to ignite in the head of the household, at least from Lumière's perspective. There was a sincerity in his curiosity of the logic behind Cogsworth's attitude towards romance, but he had never taken enough time to come to any conclusions. Either way, Lumière's "gallivanting" was a topic that Cogsworth obviously hated addressing.

Also, it had been ages since they had quarreled over Lumière's bad habits or Cogsworth's totalitarianism. Frankly, they had hardly spoken since their biggest fight. After the Queen had intervened, and prevented Lumière from saying something he would have ended up regretting, he could only imagine she had spoken for him on his behalf, for there was not another mention of Christmas Eve again.

Never one to hold a grudge, Lumière had let those feelings on the fight go a long time ago, but it still wasn't discernible if Cogsworth had done the same. Hopefully, upon entrance, the air would have been cleared.

Lumière had his knuckles raised to knock, but thought better of it. With a sly smile, he gripped the door frame, turned the brass knob, and swung in on it.

"Bonjour, Cogsworth!" he greeted boisterously.

As was the desired effect, the majordomo did a startled hop in his comfy leather armchair, his elbow knocking the stacks of acknowledgments to flutter and fall to the floor and across his desk. He managed to save those that had almost landed in the melted wax for the seals and the flame heating it with reflexes Lumière had never fathomed he possessed.

As the majordomo was regaining his breath, Lumière enjoyed the stunned, wide-eyed expression on Cogsworth's face for another second before he closed the door behind him. "I was told by _une petite ange_ that you may have something for me."

" _Oh_ …" Cogsworth groaned as he lowered himself into his chair, still in disbelief at the mess around him.

The maître d' gave a sympathetic sigh. Despite Cogsworth's astounding perseverance in his work, he was not immune to exhaustion. "Here, allow me."

The majordomo didn't object, but massaged his forehead while Lumière retrieved the letters from the floor, lining them in his hands like decks of cards. As he placed the last set on the desk, Lumière sat down in the hard-backed chair across from it, flashing Cogsworth a dazzling grin when he finally looked up. He only stared blankly at him, and the maître d' decided to fairly yield, "My apologies, _mon ami_. You know, of course, I meant no harm in it."

With the eye roll Lumière was waiting on, Cogsworth replied sarcastically, "No, of course not. What harm are a few heart palpitations to someone in my position?" Determined to get to business, he reached into his left desk drawer and pulled out a letter. "This arrived in the post this morning."

At a single glance, Lumière recognized the insignia on the wax immediately. Eagerly, he popped the seal and quickly skimmed the familiar handwriting:

 _Lumière,_

 _I know it was only since your last birthday that you came to La Bazolle for a brief visit, but I must ask you for another, if at all possible. It is of the utmost importance because, if you can believe it, I am engaged._

 _We have been courting for the past few months, under the strict supervision of both of our parents. You can imagine what our parlor conversations are like, but when we are alone… She is the most charming girl. Witty, fun, intelligent, well-versed, and beautiful, above all._

 _You must come meet her. I am sure you would adore her as much as I have come to, and I would prefer an acquaintance be made between you before the wedding ceremony. Do not worry, a date has not been established, but at the rate of how well things are going, it is bound to be soon._

 _Of all the favors I will ask of you, please let this be the one you accept. Heaven knows the debt amounted from the times I lied, charmed, and smuggled on your behalf. I know you have not forgotten._

 _Send a reply as soon as you are granted permission to leave, or otherwise._

 _I hope to see you soon, my friend._

 _All the very best,_

 _Nicolas_

 _Oh, Nicolas, you are a godsend_ , Lumière mentally thanked. This was just what he needed: to get out of the château for a while and unwind with his oldest friend. Why had he not thought to do it before? Not only was it an ingenious idea, but it was perfect timing. Easter was the last major event of the season, and there was nothing scheduled to occur until the summer.

"Cogsworth," Lumière addressed, finding he had returned to sealing letters as though the maître d' did not exist. "I would like to request leave to visit Nicolas de Créquy for three weeks."

"Done," was the majordomo's immediate reply with not even a hint of a glance in his direction.

"Excellent," Lumière said with a smile as he rose to leave. There were normally questions and reminders involved when he asked permission to visit Nicolas, but he and Cogsworth had gone through this procedure enough where it hardly seemed necessary. Then again, Cogsworth might not even have the patience at this moment.

But at the door, Cogsworth did stop him. "You said 'three weeks'?"

"Oui, if you find no trouble in it," he confirmed casually, half-expecting a problem to arise.

His attention already receding, he assured, "No, only make the proper arrangements with Louis and Mrs. Potts for that duration, nothing you don't already know."

Did Cogsworth finally have a pinch of confidence in Lumière's memory? "Of course," he answered, trying to hide his awe and not comment on the phenomenon. Something was bound to ruin it, so he made sure to ask, "Would there be… anything else?"

"No, that will be all."

 _Well, that cannot be right._

If it had been clear their mutual aggravation of each other was all that was causing Cogsworth's ignoring, Lumière would have contently been out of his office minutes ago. But it actually bothered him to not know where the two of them stood.

The majordomo eyed him as Lumière continued to stand in the doorway, brow furrowing. "What are you still doing here?"

Baffled at his own feelings, he responded slowly, "I am asking myself that same question."

"Well, there are much better locations to answer it than in my doorway," Cogsworth recommended, his efforts to keep his chagrin from showing barely obvious. "If you don't mind conducting yourself elsewhere."

But Lumière couldn't move, and hoped he did not regret bringing up the matter. "Cogsworth?"

The majordomo breathed an exhausted sigh, but the usual struggle to maintain his patience with him did not seem to be the cause. "Yes, Lumière?"

The maître d' moved back into the room. Cogsworth's composure was starting to disturb him. "I understand that… we have hardly spoken since… the end of the year." At this, Cogsworth gave him his undivided attention, however emotionless. "But, I would like to believe that particular… disagreement is behind us." When Cogsworth's eyes shifted in contemplation, Lumière prompted, "Is that not the case?"

Appearing to concede to something, Cogsworth gestured to the wooden chair. "Have a seat, Lumière."

Though very hesitant, he followed his order, eyeing Cogsworth with uncertain curiosity.

The head of the household brought his laced fingers to his mouth as he stared at the wood grain of the desk, considering how to begin. "You, of course, recall Her Grace… intervening our… disagreement."

Lumière nodded, and Cogsworth resumed, taking his hands from his chin as his eyes followed them, "Well, after you left the vicinity… she explained to me that… there was, in fact, a proper reason… that is, your intentions were indeed noble when it came to… her."

Even though Cogsworth was avoiding his eye, and his discomfort was evident, Lumière could not help become a bit dumbfounded. Could the majordomo possibly have _concern_ for him?

Cogsworth had taken a brief second to glance at Lumière, because they both knew what he implied by "her." Seeing that this caused no negative effect, he pushed on, "The Queen suggested I be… a little more lenient and impartial to your cause." He finally looked him in the eye. "With more of the benevolence and mercy than is unique to her position, she vouched for you. And I hope to her esteemed credit that it was not in vain."

Though in a daze, this statement caught his attention. "What are you saying? That I—?"

"Tell me honestly," he cut in, his usual authoritative tone returning. "Did you care for her?"

Lumière was startled at the question, more so for the fact that it was coming from Cogsworth. "Did I… yes! More than I can say. Or _should_ say, rather."

Craving more clarification to justify both of their actions, Cogsworth had to ask, "Did you love her?"

Lumière stared back, frozen at his words, the words he had mulled over more times than he could count that only resulted in the same inadequate answer. They felt overused and dull speaking them aloud. "I don't know."

At how Cogsworth pursed his lips, Lumière dropped his eyes. He knew deep down he had not quite deserved the Queen's favor. And Cogsworth had every right to dismiss him permanently from the château for the extremity of his disobedience.

"Lumière."

Resigned to his fate, he faced the majordomo, but to instead find a look of sympathy on his features. "Perhaps that is best," Cogsworth said.

From Cogsworth's knowledgeable gaze, the urge to ask came upon him, but Lumière put it aside. The enigma of Cogsworth's past love would have to remain just that for now.

"I do commend you for the resilience in your work after… everything occurred," Cogsworth resumed. "But I've been observant of you enough to notice it has not been the same, and frankly…" Cogsworth began to feel awkward again. "… it's been… rather disconcerting."

A smile started to grow on Lumière's face. He crossed his arms, his interest piqued. "Really?"

Cogsworth seemed to pout, but gave in, saying, "Yes. To my amazement, I actually… _missed_ your ridiculous enthusiasm. You so often exuded it that without it, it felt… draining to be around you." At Lumière's surprised expression, he inquired, "Didn't anyone inform you of this?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head as he thought back. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts the majority of the time he had hardly given notice to how his staff might be concerned for him. "It seems that… they were afraid to make me aware of it."

"Well, you seem in slightly better spirits since I had seen you last," Cogsworth concluded, silently referring to Lumière's entrance. "I am—" But then he stopped himself, shaking his head at the horrible notion of it almost escaping his lips.

But Lumière was not about to let him off so easily. With a huge grin, he exclaimed, "Admit it, _mon ami_ , you are _happy_ to see me in better spirits! Come now, no need to be ashamed!" Though Cogsworth looked more irritated than anything else as Lumière patted him on the back.

Then an idea came to Lumière, and he mischievously wrapped his arm around Cogsworth's shoulders in a kind of camaraderie, while Cogsworth glared at him with distaste. "This is indeed an extraordinary revelation, Cogsworth. I might shout it from the highest tower so everyone in the château can hear of how you are positively _elated_ that your most esteemed colleague…" Lumière glanced sideways at him and winked. "… is returning to his old tricks and tomfoolery!"

"You wouldn't dare," Cogsworth snapped coolly.

"Oh, you know I would, _mon cher ami_ ," the maître d' assured. "But… because I am touched by your affection for me, I will provide another option." He let go of Cogsworth, who seemed incredibly relieved at his release, and came to stand in front of his desk as he offered, "Your confession will not leave this room on my account if, and only if, you say with your own lips that you are glad to have me back."

"I certainly am not now," the majordomo muttered bitterly.

Flashing another smile, Lumière teasingly added, "Do not be modest! I have the most complete confidence in you!"

Cogsworth continued to silently glare daggers, inciting Lumière to say, "I am sure you would like to return to your business of sealing letters, but when I leave depends on you. It is only a few simple words."

Regretting this entire conversation, Cogsworth heaved a sigh. "Lumière."

"Yes?" he answered, trying his best not to laugh.

Sitting straight in his chair, Cogsworth met Lumière's gaze and said as professionally as was possible of him, "I am… glad to have you back."

Lumière held his hand to his heart, acting deeply moved. "Oh, monsieur! I had no idea the extent of your regard for me! Merci a thousand times over! And to think that the rest of the staff here will never know that you possess a beating heart." He sighed and shook his head as though disappointed. "It truly is a shame, _mon ami_."

As he lacked the energy to provide a decent comeback, Cogsworth realized he would most likely never understand why the maître d' enjoyed teasing him so incessantly, but he decided to shelf it as one of his life's great mysteries, at least for the time being. With forehead in hand, he asked tiredly, "How soon can you leave?"

Allowing his dramatization to fade, Lumière responded pleasantly, "By the day after tomorrow."

"Good." As he returned to sealing his acknowledgements, Lumière went for the door. With a foot out of the study, Cogsworth called once more, "Lumière?"

He glanced back with interest to find Cogsworth baring that all-knowing stare as before.

"Make ample use of it," Cogsworth advised sternly.

Slightly taken aback at this, Lumière nodded. "I plan to."


	2. Clearer Skies

_Chapter Two: Clearer Skies_

In between his work, Lumière spent the next day preparing the meal plans for the duration of his departure. He had never felt so focused since… well, he couldn't remember when he had been so determined. Not only that, he was anxious for a fresh start. Time with Nicolas would be the perfect cure. Perhaps they could squeeze in a trip to Paris. The future Comte de Drée was still a bachelor, after all. One last weekend steeped in wine and beautiful women wouldn't hurt. In fact, Lumière believed it healthy, purging those indulgences before becoming confined by marriage vows. He was not quite sure how his fiancée would take it, but if she was all Nicolas had said she was, she would understand.

If not, Lumière would be more than happy to explain.

 _Engaged_. Even though his friend had written that it had not officially been announced, it seemed practically inevitable. Of course, Lumière was very glad for him. He sounded in love by just his brief letter, which was more than Lumière could ask for after their most recent venture to _La Fleur Noire_ almost five years before.

However, the slightest feeling of loss and resentment tugged at his gut. He didn't want to think he was losing his partner-in-crime; there was more to their friendship than their antics with myriads of women. It was more of the uncertainty of how this girl would affect their dynamic. After they were tied and bound together in the eyes of God, she would always be there. Would there be another time after this when he and Nicolas could still maintain their confidentiality with each other, brother to brother? Nicolas was the closest to family he had left.

He knew that Nicolas would never abandon him for a girl, even if that girl was his wife. But Lumière at least knew that the obligations of marriage changed a man's priorities. Where would he stand after the church bells had rung?

Lumière shook the thoughts away. This was too deep of thinking when all of that was in the distant future. He had to smile though as he looked forward to how much better he would surely feel after he was back to normal. Never again would he want to be the life-draining presence in any circumstance.

He managed to pack all of the belongings he would need into two saddlebags. It was only about a four hour ride on horseback to La Bazolle, so in normal circumstances, he would sleep in and start his ride around noon. This time, he planned to make it there before lunch.

At around nine o' clock, he was setting his luggage aside before getting ready for bed when a rhythmic knock came from his door.

Upon opening the door, he grinned. "Ah, bonsoir, _mon ange!_ " Having glanced at his mantel clock, he raised an eyebrow reprovingly. "Cutting it a little close, aren't we? Visiting hours are almost over."

Angélique could not resist allowing a little smile to show at his teasing. "Do not worry, I won't be long."

Like a gracious host, he swept his arm to allow her passage. "Then, by all means, grace me with your presence! I would draw up the tea but, being so late, I am afraid it's gone cold!"

She crossed her arms, amazed. He looked practically giddy. "I would wager to guess your meeting with Cogsworth went well?"

Turning from shutting the door, Lumière's face lit up with that definitive twinkle in his eye. "Oh, it went _better_ than 'well'! You would hardly believe what I had learned from our favorite old pocket-watch."

Her eyes widened in feigned disbelief. " _More_ than a summons from Monsieur de Créquy? I cannot even imagine."

"Then you will deign to hear, _ma chère_ mademoiselle," he insisted, inviting her to sit on the end of the bed, facing the blazing hearth. As she sat down, he followed suit, and began by reminding, "You recall the argument Cogsworth and I had, non?"

Her eyes widened. "Ah, oui, who could forget. Did he mention it?" she asked, though her tone was doubtful.

He confirmed the doubts with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Of course not. _I_ was the one who brought it about, as uncomfortable as it was. But—" At this he leaned in conspiratorially. "He spoke the simplest words that I never thought he would ever arrange into order, and not only that, he directed these words to _me_."

Having no clue what he could be building towards, Angélique held a mixture of skepticism and wonder. "What were they?"

"Well, after reading Nicolas' letter, he made a show of congratulating me on my improved state of mind. I took full advantage of that, and managed to coerce this phrase out of him." He held a hand over his heart. "This is in absolute verbatim, I swear by the very scraps of honor I hold dear," Lumière promised with the highest amount of seriousness he could muster. Looking the decorator dead in the eye, he emphasized each syllable with complete clarity. "'I am _glad_ to have you back.'"

Not seeming surprised in the slightest, Angélique rolled her eyes, but a smile was creeping onto her mouth. She knew full well he was exaggerating, though she was aware of Cogsworth's true feelings. "You really are reprehensible."

He shrugged, conceding as he fell back on the bed with hands behind his head, "That was my favorite part of the conversation."

"Clearly," she observed, painting a picture with her hands as she added theatrically, "because in your excitement, you forgot to create this _tapestry_ of drama and suspense that always accompanies your storytelling." With a smirk of her own, she bantered, "I think you're slipping, _chéri_."

"Oh, _Dieu_ help me if I have not slipped to the bottom of the slope already," he remarked.

Taking a moment to ponder on that, she shook her head. "Quite the contrary; I believe you are on your way back up." She glanced at his bags. "You leave tomorrow?"

"Oui, bright and early." He stood up and walked to stare out of the window as he continued, attempting to sound nonchalant, "And hopefully by the time I return… I will be back to normal." He tried to prevent the words from pouring out, but if he had to be honest, that was the main reason he was looking forward to his time at La Bazolle. Though Angélique couldn't see it clearly, his expression had sobered.

She remained seated, sighing. She had told him before that it was okay to miss Babette, and that it would not hinder him from overcoming his love for her. The same went for how his efforts to forget about her completely would not hasten the process. There were only so many ways to say them, and frankly, it was best she no longer endeavored to add her wisdom when Babette came up in conversation.

Looking out at the night, and actually _seeing_ it instead of using it as a backdrop to his abounding thoughts, Lumière saw the stars for the first time in days. The clouds and rain that had plagued the skies had finally vanished to let pinpoints of light shine through the darkness. He could not allow the clouds to brew over him any longer. In fact, he was confident that after these next three weeks, blue skies would be the only thing in his sight from then on.

With a deep breath, he turned to see Angélique watching him warily. He quietly hummed a laugh as he approached her to give a reassuring smile. "There is no need for you to look at me that way anymore. I will be fine."

Again, she arched a dubious eyebrow as she stood. "Are you sure?"

"More than sure."

She pursed her lips in consideration, but then appeared comforted as she smiled. " _Bien_. I will take your word for it." Seeing the time, she imparted facetiously, "It seems I have overstayed my welcome. _I_ shall not be the reason you do not leave before breakfast."

Following her eyes, he adopted her tone as he led her to the door. "Ah, oui, mademoiselle! A quarter past nine? What will dear Cogsworth say at your lack of awareness?"

Spinning with a referring hand as if to say, _Moi?_ she replied, "To the favorite of his staff? Simple. I only need to mention your name and the problem solves itself."

As he held the door open for her, he tried to appear disapproving but a one-sided smirk found its way to his lips. "You have far too much faith in his intolerance for me."

"Nonsense. I believe he will remain as fixed as the country he presides from."

"If by 'fixed', you mean 'stubborn', then that _is_ something to fear," he replied with a foreboding nod.

Angélique laughed quietly. "Good night, Lumière." But as she went to leave, a sudden thought came to her. Looking to the carpet hesitantly for a brief second, she offered, "If… anything happens, remember that you can write to me." She then shrugged indifferently. "If you need a woman's touch, that is."

"Oh, I plan to get a woman's touch in other ways," he suggested with a sly grin, but added sincerely, "But I will think of you if I cannot find comfort anywhere else."

"Let us hope you don't need it."

"Agreed," he prayed.

"Bon voyage, _cher_ , and bonne chance."

He inclined his head gratefully. "Merci, Angélique. Bonne nuit..." As she began her way back to her quarters, he called to her playfully, "… _la petite ange sur mon épaule_."

"Oh, shut up," she snapped as he chuckled at her, but he knew she was grinning despite herself.

* * *

It was impossible to count how many times Lumière had cursed the location of his room in the morning, the only reason being the sun always found its way to shine its beams directly on him through the smallest break in his curtains. Sleep had always been one of the major needs of living he had most prized, and in more recent times, he found it much too easy to indulge in its bliss and comfort. But this day, he had an all too different attitude. It was a day that would hopefully be the beginning of his heartbreak's end.

The sun was most welcome as Lumière climbed out of bed at the crack of dawn to prepare for his journey to La Bazolle. Despite the now clear skies, the ground was still damp from the recent rainstorms that had blown through the countryside, so he equipped himself with his boots and heavy traveling cloak should another storm happen to surprise him. With his luck of late, he could not be too careful.

A brawny mare could carry the weight of his luggage, and with the help of a stable hand, the maître d' had one saddled and dressed for the morning ride. He was walking the horse to the front of the château as a portly, middle-aged woman approached him with a cloth tied into a small sack in her hands, a gentle yet assured smile on her face. Lumière grinned and shook his head, having a very good idea what the sack contained.

"I had hoped to catch you on your way out," Mrs. Potts explained, intentionally making no notice of his light chastisement. "You couldn't very well leave without some snacks to tide you over on the road."

"I had thought with an early departure, I would finally be able to prevent you from spoiling me with your treats! I shudder to think you slave in the kitchen after the rest of us have finished dinner."

Becoming peeved, though very mildly, she ensured, "Oh, posh, Lumière, I'm a woman with hobbies, and one of them happens to be baking for those who need a little something sweet. And you of all people deserve a little extra," she added with meaning.

He received the small bag with grace, despite his attempt at modesty, which always failed when confronted with the generosity of the castle's housekeeper. Exaggerating the weight of the sweets, he panted, "Perhaps, but I will not be able to consume it all without help!"

"What about Monsieur de Créquy?"

"He already had an infatuation with your cooking the last time I shared it, and this time he might be convinced to come steal you away as his own personal chef."

Grinning at the compliment, Mrs. Potts assured, "I'm willing to take that risk for a good friend of yours."

He put all joking aside to say, "You really are too kind, madame, to think that I am worth this much trouble."

"It was no trouble at all, Lumière."

"Are you certain you're content with running the kitchen while I am gone? I could always ask Louis to take over—"

"Don't worry another minute about it. I am all too happy to take over for you while you're gone. Your job now is to relax and enjoy yourself however you can. And remember…" She brought up her hand under his chin. "… you're going to be just fine."

Lumière's heart felt as full as it could feel at that time. Mrs. Potts was undoubtedly the closest to a mother since his own had passed away when he was only a boy. Not only did he hold her in that respect, but she had made it mutual with her kindness, open heart, and selflessness towards him. Though it was rare, she even knew how to discipline him, and it never took more than a look and a word for him to recognize his poor choice in action. He realized it was in her nature. She had an uncanny ability to see a need and fill it with merely her time and effort.

Cradling the treats in one arm, Lumière took her hand and kissed it reverently. "I shall inform the Church to consider you for a sainthood, madame."

Mrs. Potts chuckled. "You can try, bless your heart, but I doubt I'm what the Church has in mind."

Straightening, he reasoned with a smirk, "With me speaking on your behalf, they would soon be demanding to name you a saint."

She shook her head teasingly at the image. "What a sight it would be, you trying to charm the Church!"

"Charm would only be part of it. You make quite a convincing case on your own, _ma chère_ Madame Potts," he vouched sincerely.

As he gently packed the sweets into one of his luggage and stepped onto his horse, Lumière glanced back at the housekeeper now at his feet. Recalling from memory the long, revealing, and uplifting private discussions they had undergone recently, his voice was soft and vulnerable as he imparted, "Again, thank you for all you've done."

Visibly touched, Mrs. Potts gripped his hand on the bridle and gave it a squeeze. "You're more than welcome, child." With a pat on the horse, she gave it room to tread on while she waved. "Happy travels! Mind any rivers and streams, they're bound to have flooded!"

"I was just having the same thoughts!" he called behind him in jest, laughing as she set her arms akimbo in mock disapproval.

"And have fun!" she replied, turning it into a command.

"By your order alone!" At that point, he was crossing the bridge over the ravine and cantering out the open wrought iron gate.

* * *

The rhythmic clopping of hooves accompanied by the tweeting of birds and rustling of the forest's leaves made for an all-too-soothing symphony as the sun quickly began its voyage across the sky. The various shades of green that canopied the path combined with nature's sounds were an ideal combination for Lumière to daydream to. The air remained brisk and clean, but even with the sun's rays, it was still cool enough where his heavy cloak was necessary.

Once out of the forest, he rode past the same lonely, abandoned cottage through the little town of Molyneaux, which had just begun its morning routine. The main street was heavily populated by the villagers running their errands, but they hardly paid him any mind. They maintained their foci on their destinations and simply went around his horse, parting like the sea does for a ship's bow.

Amidst all of the earthy tones of the town's denizens, a spark of red caught Lumière's eye. In front of the tavern were two boys, who couldn't be older than ten years of age. The tall black-haired boy in a red tunic had a bow and arrow in his hands, while his shorter and stumpier friend was balancing an apple on his head. It wobbled from the shaking in his stocky legs.

"Come on, LeFou, hold still!" the black-haired pre-teen demanded in a rather deep voice for a boy so young.

Timidly, his short friend squeaked, "But—But shouldn't we practice somewhere… less full of people? We could hurt someone!"

" _No_ one shoots better than Gaston!" With that announcement, the boy dressed in red shot his arrow right through the apple's core into the barrel behind his friend. Its juice started to drip down the wood.

Even though he had ducked as the arrow was released, the boy named LeFou jumped in jubilation, any fear dissolving in his huge, toothy grin. "You did it! That was amazing, Gaston, you were right!"

The black-haired boy's eyes lit up at his accomplishment and his friend's praise, but he soon hid his excitement, bragging, "Of course I was! You heard what I said!"

"Let's do it again!" And in a strange kind of camaraderie, the young archer brought his meek friend in a playful chokehold, laughing all the while.

Lumière shook his head, smirking at the unlikely friendship, and jolted the reins, spurring himself past the provincial village.

Vast fields of wheat and produce replaced the shops and apartments of Molyneaux for the next mile. Perched on the mare, Lumière could watch the breezes create rippling waves through the grain as he dug into Mrs. Potts' gift of dried cakes and macaroons.

While delved in another ocean of pines and maples, the sun began to be blotted out by clouds. The wind was picking up and blew more pinecones, leaves, and maple seeds onto the road.

Lumière kicked his steed's sides, sensing the impending rain, and ducked his head against the wind as he galloped through the woods.

The skies were grey as he approached La Clayette, but La Bazolle was on the outskirts of town. He was very keen on avoiding the storm, however severe, and swiftly made his way through its paved streets.

He thought to bypass it, but he convinced himself it was less convenient to try another route out of the town. His gut twisted in anticipation as he approached the recognizable stone walls surrounding the property of the Chantemerle manor.

When he became level with its iron gate, he glimpsed the lawn and drive that stretched to the château's fine and respectable façade.

Lumière hadn't given much mind to it before, only that it held one of the province's most esteemed families, but the manor's significance had changed so drastically since his last visit. His curiosity of what the walls enclosed held far after it was no longer in his sights, but why? Had he been hoping to spot Babette taking a stroll through the gardens, or some other ridiculous notion?

He quickly put that to rest. Sure, she had been somewhat of a catalyst to this journey, if to only overcome his residual feelings and sense of loss, but this trip had nothing to do with her. He looked ahead once more to what laid ahead and put the manor behind him for the better.

A light drizzle began to fall as La Bazolle could be seen from a distance. Assuming this was nature's way of punishing him for his snooping, he gritted his teeth and spurred the mare back into a gallop.

La Bazolle's grounds were open, not being confined to the city's limits, but no less manicured and taken care off than any other mansion. The château itself was visible before the gate was, though the rain was starting to fall heavily. As he approached it, he familiarly took a right turn toward the stables.

Lumière pulled the reins to a stop as the stable boy ducked into the rain to greet him.

"Ah, bonjour, Monsieur Lumière!" the teen exclaimed, blinking into the rain to look up at the maître d'.

"Romain!" he addressed in surprise. "Why are you working in this weather?"

"I promised to keep look-out." The sandy-haired teenager shrugged. "My master has been expecting you to arrive with or without any word ahead."

"What a disappointment!" Lumière lamented, stepping off of his horse as the stable boy held the bridle. "After all these years, I thought this was my best chance in surprising him."

Romain returned a genuine smile. "It is good to see you again, monsieur."

Lumière patted his shoulder. "Merci, my boy. You as well!"

As the young man took the mare to be stabled, the maître d' gripped his hat and made his way through the stables to the front gardens. He tried to avert from the downpour as much as possible, skimming the edge of the stables to stay under its roof before striding through the flowering parterres to one of the three front doors underneath a second-floor balcony. After swinging a knocker a few times, he assessed the rain's damage and found his cloak and boots had taken the brunt of it. Only his hair and part of his trousers seemed to have been sprinkled on. As he was silently congratulating himself for his proper preparation against the elements, the door opened to have the future count himself answer it.

"Arriving before lunch?" Nicolas admired with awe, jesting, "Were you finally able to witness the sun's rising?"

"After glancing at my crystal ball and tea dregs," Lumière explained factually, "I knew I had to sacrifice my late-night antics to beat the storm, so here I am, at your beck and call," he added with a gallant bow.

Lumière laughed as Nicolas scowled. His friend had always despised any humility that those of lower rank showed him. He had never thought he was above anyone in his life, and it truly had torn at his conscience when he had come to terms with that simple fact of society. He only had accepted it when his family convinced him that it was merely a sign of respect to call them "master" and "mistress" and serve the family through cooking and cleaning. And this was all when Lumière had first become Nicolas' valet.

Nicolas had always treated Lumière as an equal, as any friend would, despite their respective social rankings, and insisted the maître d' never bow to him and only refer to him by his first name. That didn't stop Lumière from bowing and calling him "master" just to tease him.

Wearing that aggravating smirk of his, the maître d' gave a pouting Nicolas a friendly pat on his back as he crossed the threshold. "Come on, old friend, you must have missed me to send so urgent a letter! Do you expect any less of me?"

"You mean 'any more?'" Nicolas corrected. "You taught me not to raise my expectations for you long ago, yet I somehow like to fancy the idea of le Château du Lac actually teaching you some manners!"

Lumière shrugged as he took off his cloak. "Like you, they realized quickly that I am a long-lost cause."

"And yet, despite that, my mother loves to ask when you plan to return for another visit." Nicolas rolled his eyes. "I think she merely misses your entertaining side comments you used to whisper in her ear during tedious parlor prattling."

Laughing at the memories, Lumière admonished, "We both know you are jealous of what your dear mother and I have, Nicolas. Your attempts to dismiss it are only getting feebler." As Nicolas shook his head at Lumière's ridiculous remarks, though smiling all the while, Lumière sincerely asked, "Where are your parents? Entertaining the masses?"

Nicolas shrugged with a nod as if to pose rhetorically, _What can you do?_ "They are in town for the afternoon, but they should be back for dinner. You can renew your enchantment on them then."

"As though you believe it is that easy!"

"I have seen you do it for years! You have a natural talent with people, which I truly do envy you for."

"You do not give yourself enough credit, _mon ami_. Contrary to me, you appear quiet, reserved, and thoughtful. My outgoing and arguably boisterous self can bring people in, but qualities like yours are what make them stay, especially women. Speaking of which…" Lumière gave him a suggestive grin. "… you have not brought out your betrothed. I would like to see for myself if the magnificent creature you wrote about matches your description."

Uncharacteristically, Nicolas became bashful. He glanced at the ground with a secretive smile on his lips. "My words could never do her justice," he professed. "She will meet us in the drawing room in a minute. She is a little, well, shy at the thought of meeting you."

"What did you tell her?"

At Lumière's expression of a disapproving father, Nicolas grimaced. "I'm afraid I may have spoken too heavily of our… excursions. And when it came to you… I think I unwittingly gave her a bad impression."

"Nice going."

"Trust me, I made sure to overcompensate," Nicolas assured. "I would not have sent out that letter if she hadn't been open to meeting you."

Lumière had to shake his head. "I do not think even Cogsworth is capable of making me sound as unappealing as you must have made me seem, though I am sure he has tried! And here, when I speak of you, she had nothing but praise."

Nicolas raised a questioning eyebrow. "'She?'"

Mentally kicking himself for the slip, Lumière sighed. "Now _that_ , my friend, is a story for another time, when we are not expecting company."

Hardly recognizing what he saw, Nicolas murmured, " _Non_ , impossible. You did not…?" But a single glance from his friend was all the confirmation he needed. The future count patted him on the back. "I won't press you on it now. Come, I'll get you a drink."

Before Nicolas could lead him off the foyer, Lumière happened to look to the top of the staircase, where the balcony became a hallway, as a pair of blue eyes and the skirt of a plum satin gown spun out of sight.

This fiancée was shy indeed.

Hesitating for only a brief moment to see if she would appear, he resigned to follow his friend into the drawing room.


	3. The New Norm

_Chapter Three: The New Norm_

Had it already been three months since meeting the vicomte? Babette could hardly believe it.

It seemed like only the day before when she had been cleaning floors, dusting corridors, and polishing marble and brass. In the first few weeks of her arrival home, she had still sometimes woken up at the slightest crack of dawn, much to her disgruntlement. Out of all her old habits, how had her pleasant nine-in-the-morning wake-up call been a hassle to return to?

Unfortunately, that hadn't been the most difficult of problems for her to overcome. Leaving le Château du Lac and all the residents who dwelled in it behind had been the hardest trial she had ever endured. Her heart had not only broken once, but as many more times as for the people she had grown closest to: Angélique, Mrs. Potts, and even by some degree, Cogsworth. But the first who had caused her heart to cleave in two…

It had been hard enough trying to hide her heartbreak from her parents, but they had seemed to accept she was going to miss being a part of the château's tight-knit community. Thankfully, Babette had not to meet the vicomte, her arranged fiancé, for a week or so after Christmas, and in that time, she had taken to becoming thoroughly absorbed in her responsibilities as a future countess and single heir of the Chantemerle family.

Back were the tight corseted gowns of fine silks and fabrics, the dressing and pampering by her handmaiden, and the false smiles and silently judging countenances of fellow aristocrats. Her bitter feelings toward all that came with being of noble birth had not changed since her stay at the province's château, but she had found a higher level of tolerance in herself to withstand what she had so despised before.

Upon meeting the vicomte, she had found more reason to broaden her acceptance and understanding of the life she had to lead.

After a few short months, she found herself healed. She basked and blossomed in the vicomte's adoring gaze, and the feelings she felt for him were different than anything she had felt before. Perhaps it was love, but of another kind.

Pausing at the top of the staircase, Babette allowed the images of her fiancé to keep her mind at ease. She felt as though she were descending toward a lions' den.

Her corset made it impossible for her to slouch, and as seemed to be its ultimate purpose, caused her breath to catch, but she knew that what awaited her had assisted with that on its own. She stood outside the salon doors, wishing she could run back up to her room where she could remain safe for a little while longer, but she knew this meeting was inevitable, and always would be.

Another thought came to her, but she shook her head at it. She had checked herself in the mirror already, and though she hated the idea of presenting herself in her class' distinguishing style of garb, she was not ashamed of it. Her clothes did not define her.

Taking as deep of a breath as she could muster, Babette stepped into _le petit salon_.

Immediately, the vicomte stood up as she entered, his hazel eyes alighting and his boyish mouth turning into a grin at the sight of her. His navy coat fit around his broad shoulders and athletic build marvelously. Since he never wore a customary wig in his own home, his dark brown hair was visible, slicked back and cropped to the base of his skull. Babette felt her heart flutter.

But it staggered in beat from the other man in the room. His slender back was to her, but she bid herself to look to him before he saw her. As he eagerly turned to face her, a look of pure shock and horror as though he was watching the dead arise crossed his features. This ended up satisfying her more than she could have ever guessed, and she smiled without hesitation.

Her beloved approached to take her hands in his before presenting her. "Lumière," he introduced fondly. "My fiancée, Babette de Chantemerle."

* * *

Lumière seemed to recall feeling this way before. The moment he had first seen Babette had wowed him in every sense of the word. Actually, no, this wasn't the same at all. He was sure his awe hadn't been founded in fear.

He had erased his expression of dread before Nicolas could shift his gaze from the vision of her, his eyes holding a look that Lumière was all too familiar with. His friend was shoulder-deep in love, not a doubt of it.

And clearly knew nothing about his and Babette's history.

With a smile that could fake sincerity a little too well, Lumière came around the chaise to greet her properly. "I had wondered why Nicolas had made such a feeble attempt to describe your beauty in his letter, but now I see that words would have been inadequate." He kissed her hand, ignoring its familiarity. "A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, mademoiselle."

His smile seemed mocking to her, and she tried not to shudder at his touch, whatever the emotion that incited it. Babette respectfully curtsied to the maître d'. "The pleasure is all mine, monsieur. Nicolas spared no words about you."

"So I've been told," Lumière replied, eyeing the vicomte in a way that he hoped was teasing.

Nicolas rolled his eyes, though his blush gave way to his embarrassment. "Babette, did I not praise the merit of Lumière's character to you on numerous occasions?"

"Oui, so much that it was almost difficult to believe," she remarked, giving the maître d' a sharp passing glance. Lumière had to do all he could not to glare at her.

"Thank you," Nicolas said to Babette before he raised his eyebrows at Lumière as though daring him to say more on the subject.

Lumière crossed his arms, his gaze lingering on the viscountess. "If that is true… I hope to at least meet your expectations."

"We shall see then, monsieur," Babette replied simply, though her icy blue eyes were piercing.

Lumière couldn't help but recall at how familiar her eyes appeared in that moment. Not because he had admired them for whom they belonged, but because they looked all too similar to when she had been bent on hating him, like after their very first introduction.

He almost wanted to laugh at the irony.

Their stare seemed to last longer than it really did, but it was broken when Nicolas guided Babette to the seat on the chaise next to him. Lumière followed suit, making sure to grab his wine before replacing himself in an armchair across from them.

He wished he could drain his glass without Nicolas noticing, but he had to fight his craving for however long these "introductions" would last.

While slowly sipping his wine and wishing for something stronger, Lumière watched her as she watched him. She looked on coolly, and to avoid her expression of indifference, he took notice of the rest of her.

She sat with back erect, shoulders back, and ankles crossed under her long skirt in perfect aristocratic style, mimicking any other woman of noble birth. The plum gown she wore was of rich fabric that shined a dull luster. The side hoops of her dress, though not so wide, exaggerated her tiny waist, though it was clear her chest was constricted by her corset, especially with how he knew so well what her natural figure looked like.

Perhaps it was because this was far from what he was used to, but Lumière couldn't help but think that she looked nothing like herself.

Then he noticed Nicolas slightly nodding sideways towards Babette, signaling that he should be the one to begin the conversation.

Lumière swallowed his sigh with irritation. He was far from the right state-of-mind to learn more about how Babette came to court his best friend.

Taking a deep breath, he put on a face that he hoped looked interested. "So… I am curious to hear the tale of how this… betrothal began." With a little spite that only Babette would be able to read, he targeted her. "Mademoiselle?"

It was subtle, but she puckered her lips enough for him to see she had picked up on his slight.

As she opened her mouth to respond, however, Nicolas replied, "Her parents had asked for an audience with us at the end of November to propose an arrangement between our houses. They vouched highly for her character, and I agreed to meet her after she was no longer indisposed."

"'Indisposed?'" Lumière jumped on the word with a show of mounting curiosity.

Nicolas appeared to regret Lumière's interest, and exchanged a glance with Babette. Right as a look of understanding passed between them, Lumière felt his blood begin to boil, but it was not without the accompaniment of jealousy's upward thrust through his gut.

Leaning on the arm of his chair, he tried to hide his scowl behind a thoughtful hand before they both turned to him again.

"From October to December," Babette explained, not quite meeting Lumière's eyes, "I was serving… in a convent."

The maître d's brow immediately shot up at this blatant lie, but realized, _Ah, so_ that _is what she has said to keep Nicolas ignorant._ He couldn't deny feeling a bit of relief from having to explain himself to his friend, but the fact that she was maintaining this falsehood for Nicolas' sake… He certainly did not like it.

"A convent, you say!" Lumière repeated with a faint smirk, genuinely intrigued.

Babette aimed her stare, daring him to object her words. But that was quite far from his intention.

As she had taken pleasure with his shock at realizing she was Nicolas' betrothed, so would he on witnessing her convulse a lie to the one who knew the truth, as well as in front of the one she kept oblivious.

"Surely you intend to say more!" Lumière prompted amicably. "Please, tell me, what was that like? I imagine the difference is… insurmountable to the life of a well-endowed vicomtesse such as yourself."

With a small glance at Nicolas, Lumière could see him give a look of warning. The maître d' could admit perhaps "well-endowed" had been too suggestive of a description, despite the truth it held in both respects. But he was enjoying Babette's ill-concealed indignation too much to feel any shame.

"I do not wish to disappoint you," Babette worded carefully, her expression countering her statement, "but there really is not much to tell."

Rather determined in his pursuits, Lumière raised an eyebrow and replied, "Perhaps that is true, but for the sake of conversation, why not say what little there is to tell?"

Looking cunningly resigned, she answered, "It… mostly consisted of… playing a maid."

Lumière couldn't help but furrow his brow at this. How could she claim that and get away with it?

Before Lumière could reply, and noting his suspicion, Nicolas added, "What she means is, because she was among the youngest living there, and not having taken any holy vows, she helped keep the convent clean."

"I see…" the maître d' admitted, keeping his bitterness under the surface. He watched Babette cock a slender eyebrow that clearly read, _Your move._

 _The clever minx_ , he had to admire. She had covered all of her tracks well.

But what about her romantic affairs—prior to himself? Lumière had the full account of her escapades, a numerous amount of them scandalous for someone of _questionable_ morals. It was one thing for Babette to be keeping the truth from Nicolas about her relationship with Lumière, but it was another thing for her to withhold the entirety of her dalliances. Nicolas might as well not know Babette at all. With the way the viscount looked at her, he _can't_ have been told… right?

Then again, Nicolas was that understanding and open-minded of a person. There was a possibility he knew about all of her personal accounts—outside of the rumors—and saw past them for her sake. Lord knew he at least tolerated it based on his choice of friends.

Lumière had to try coercing this information out of him as soon as they were alone.

Nicolas cleared his throat awkwardly after a moment of silence. "So, Lumière, how is everything at le Château du Lac? Anything of interest?"

Lumière shrugged. "The holidays are hectic, visiting royalty comes and goes, and Cogsworth still believes I carry a secret agenda against him, so quite normal, unfortunately."

Babette archly smiled. "Who is this 'Cogsworth?'"

A bit chagrined she caught that attempt so smoothly, Lumière nonchalantly explained, "He is our majordomo: tedious, demanding, and _very_ English," he added tiredly with an eye roll.

Though she quickly averted her eyes as theirs met, Babette sincerely grinned, like it was an inside joke. He almost became too distracted by this to hear a humored Nicolas inquire, "It has been over four years, and _still_ you haven't found any common ground?"

Recovering swiftly, Lumière admonished jokingly, "You really expect too much, _mon ami_ , of _both_ of us." When he thought back, he mentioned, "Although I have recently discovered that the old pocket watch might actually have dabbled in a bit of romance long before I met him. But heaven knows when I will ever hear a syllable of it."

"That _is_ interesting," Nicolas admitted as Babette allowed some of her curiosity to show through. "Especially since… it seems hard to believe."

"My thoughts exactly," Lumière agreed with a chuckle.

"Why would it be hard to believe?" she inquired, expressing her intrigue.

It irked Lumière to a certain extent that he would have to explain who Cogsworth was to someone who knew the majordomo better than Nicolas, but he found his confusion from the sincerity of her question stifled the irritation that arose. _Why would she even ask if not to play her part believably?_

"Well…" he began hesitantly as his mind tripped over her possible reasons. "Let us merely say he is not the romantic type."

"He is married to his work, as we've come to call it," Nicolas elaborated.

"Precisely," Lumière approved with small smirk.

"Is there anything necessarily _wrong_ about being 'married' to your work?" Babette probed thoughtfully.

A little wave of nostalgia caught Lumière off-guard. _As inquisitive as ever_ , he couldn't help but note.

He blinked the thoughts away to focus on the present. "Non, of course not. But… your question makes me believe you have your own opinion on the subject."

She pursed her scarlet lips, clearly thinking she should have seen that coming. After a glance at Nicolas, who was also waiting for her reply with a sly smile, she rolled her eyes at them. "The point of a question is for it to be answered, not reversed on its inquirer."

"True, _ma chère,_ " Nicolas conceded, "but what is the harm in enlightening us with your own thoughts… for the sake of conversation?"

He exchanged a mischievous glance with Lumière, who had to laugh. As small as it was, Nicolas was not only taking the open opportunity to tease her, but was allying with him to do it.

The potential in Lumière's stay had suddenly become much more interesting.

From the way Babette eyed both of them in turn, it would seem she saw the potential as well, and didn't like it.

" _D'accord_ ," she muttered brusquely. "I only ask because I do not think there is anything to condemn if one chooses to stay committed to their profession rather than marrying. I find it something to be admired, in fact."

Nicolas changed his tone to assure, "Babette, we do not condemn Cogsworth for never marrying—"

"Now or in the foreseeable future," Lumière annexed.

"Right," the viscount acknowledged. "But it's the… dedication he has to his job that is rather unique."

"Not to mention he has held me in contempt since the day I was hired," Lumière said more to Nicolas than to Babette.

She set her eyes on the maître d'. "Might there be a reason for him to dislike you so?"

"I imagine there must be," Lumière replied smoothly, "but his reasons seem to change depending on his mood." _Is this a way of keeping up her own play at ignorance, or to test me?_

"They are both just… very different people," Nicolas clarified to her. "Well, polar opposites, more like. I've only had the pleasure of watching them interact once, and I was not even supposed to be in earshot."

As Nicolas smiled, Lumière laughed at the memory. "Ah, oui, he would have wrung my neck if he had known you were hiding in my wardrobe!" As an afterthought, he added devilishly, "However, his mortification _would_ make it worth mentioning…"

"Would he even remember? I would think for all of the lectures he's given you, there would be a point where they blur together."

"Believe me, if I reminded him of the time and place, he would certainly remember. The man has a mind like a steel trap. But, mademoiselle," Lumière began, eager to return the attention to Babette, "I want to address your thoughts, if we may."

Her icy eyes filled with suspicion, but her voice remained cordial as always. "And what about them, monsieur, has captured your interest?"

"When you said that never marrying for the sake of a career was something to admire…"

"I meant that kind of commitment and resilience against other temptations was admirable," she elaborated without missing a beat. "It is very difficult to not stray."

In the most casual manner, Lumière inquired, "Would you happen to have experienced that difficulty firsthand?"

Nicolas shot him another glance to reel it in, but Babette was unphased. "Of course. As much as anyone."

Though this wasn't an unexpected reaction from her, Lumière was surprised to hear her be so nonchalantly candid in front of her fiancé and a "newly-met" acquaintance. Still, he couldn't prevent a ghost of a smile from appearing on his lips.

Lumière didn't seem to be the only one stunned; Nicolas stared wide-eyed at Babette for a fleeting moment before composing himself and noting his friend's expression. "I suppose I should have mentioned in my letter your perfect honesty," he said wryly to the viscountess.

"I will assure you, I _much_ prefer you hadn't," she replied lightly, watching Lumière with amusement.

The maître d' then blinked his surprise away and leaned back into his chair. "I would agree that normally such a virtue would have called for some warning, at least for those with less of an open mind."

"Yet that is precisely why I wanted to introduce you to each other," Nicolas explained with a smile, his eyes alighting with excitement. "I can already tell these next weeks will be interesting to say the least."

 _You took the words out of my mouth,_ Lumière answered silently.

Three knocks were heard on the door, and Renaud opened it to announce the early return of Nicolas' parents and that lunch was to be served in the next few minutes, but this was barely registered properly as Lumière tried to eye Babette long enough to make her meet his gaze. It seemed their fate that their determination always be matched, but at opposition. She refused to look at him, but turned her head to Nicolas.

In just the acceptance of his arm, both had eyes only for each other. As though time had slowed for Lumière's benefit, he could clearly take notice of the adoration in Nicolas' gaze and the admiration in Babette's. Acutely aware of his invisibility, Lumière felt again the plunge of jealousy's knife into his gut, but as he stood, it seemed the knife had left a bleeding wound.

Ever dutifully, a stone-faced Lumière followed the betrothed pair to the foyer.


	4. Over Luncheon

_Chapter Four: Over Luncheon_

As much as Lumière wanted to give into his frustrations, he couldn't let the sight of the woman he adored on the arm of his best friend get to him so easily. He had to develop a much thicker skin in the matter of a minute before he had to greet Nicolas' parents. Was it improbable? Yes. But never impossible.

He took a deep, lung-filling breath and looked eagerly beyond the couple walking in front of him to see the Comte and Comtesse de Drée handing their cloaks off to Renaud.

The countess, Augustine, lit up with delight at the sight of them. "Ah, Babette! So lovely to see you again, _ma chère_." She took Babette's hand and kissed her cheek.

"Same to you, madame," Babette replied with a charming smile.

To Nicolas, Augustine gave his cheek a peck and simply but lovingly greeted, "Hello, darling."

"Maman," he acknowledged similarly. " _You_ are home early."

His mother waved her hand dismissively. "There was a miscommunication with the Jacoblliot. It seems they forgot to send us a messenger to reschedule our meeting."

As she noticed Lumière, he saw Babette curtsey politely to the count, Étienne, but Augustine approached him, blocking her from his view.

"Jean-Luc Lumière," she addressed with an amused shake of her head before bringing him in to kiss both cheeks. "It always seems like an age before you deem to grace us with your charm and wit. How are you?"

Cuing his famous, debonair smile, he answered smoothly, "Much better after hearing I am still in your good graces, _ma belle-dame_."

"I heard that!" Étienne called, stepping away from the couple to approach, appearing chastising. "The fountain of flattery is still ever-flowing, I see."

Having grown much accustomed to the count's dry sense of humor, Lumière nonchalantly offered his hands in surrender. "I am afraid so. But if you wish, I can always be sure to make you an exception."

Étienne shook his finger at him like he wanted to cleverly retort, but let out a defeated sigh before offering his hand for Lumière to shake. "I almost forgot how good you are with the back-handed compliment."

"An easy mistake for one your age," the maître d' assured.

Gripping his hand a little more tightly, Étienne eyed him in warning while Lumière smirked. "Don't push it," he muttered before giving him a slap on the shoulder disguised as a fatherly pat.

Lumière made sure not to wince or he wouldn't hear the end of it from the count, and most likely his son. He glanced over to see Babette rejoin her arm with Nicolas', both of them still too enraptured with each other for Lumière's liking.

At the same time, Augustine said, "Let's proceed to the dining room, shall we? Unless I am the only one who has been craving a luncheon this past hour. Although," she said to Lumière as she walked with him down the hall behind the rest, "you must be famished most of all from your trek here. You've arrived so early! Did you even allow yourself breakfast?"

He allowed her to take his arm as he smiled at her concern. " _Mais oui,_ madame, though you are not far from truth. Rest assured, I managed to keep myself sated along the way."

With a hint of doubt, she checked with surprise, "Thinking ahead this morning, were we?"

Lumière chuckled. "Not quite. It was a gift from our housekeeper. I believe I've told you of her generosity before."

Augustine's eyes lit up. "Oh! Yes, you have. The Englishwoman, correct? Mrs.…"

"Potts."

"Oui, of course, confound my memory," she self-chastised quietly. "Well, I'm always glad to hear there are others looking out for your well-being. Heaven knows what kind of trouble you'd get yourself into otherwise!"

"I am sure you know as much, if not more, than heaven would of _that_ ," he pointed out with a smirk.

The countess had to laugh. "Perhaps all too well!" she agreed.

The table was already set with potato bisque waiting to be eaten. Lumière led Mme de Créquy to her seat at one of the heads of it, sliding her chair out for her like a gentleman.

Charmed, Augustine smiled at him. "Merci, _cher_."

As he pushed her chair in as she sat, Nicolas cocked an eyebrow and wry grin at him, clearly referring to the "spell" Lumière was able to cast on his parents. His friend replied with a cavalier shrug.

Nicolas performed the same courtesy for Babette while Étienne was seated at the other end of the table, his humored expression showing he had noticed their silent exchange.

Before Lumière could take a seat opposite Nicolas, Augustine gestured pleasantly to Lumière to sit at her right, directly across from where Babette was already seated.

The two made eye contact, and Lumière felt his gut clench. With lips tightened, she looked to the small floral arrangements on the table instead.

He took a discreet breath to calm himself, hoping his discomfort wasn't obvious, and sat to the countess' right.

While a servant on standby—Thibault, if Lumière's memory served—returned the spare bowl of soup to the kitchen, Augustine took note of the weather outside their windows as the rest started on their meals. "Oh, these dreadful showers have almost succeeded in dampening my humours completely. I had thought we had seen the last of rain for a good while! I hope you made it here in time before this one had begun," she said to Lumière.

"Only in the nick of time, madame," he soothed.

She huffed a laugh. "If only _we_ had been so lucky!"

Étienne straightened to pause from eating. "Ah, yes, between the Godard's, the coach, and here, we may have spent the whole of twenty seconds to the rain's exposure. How very unlucky indeed."

" _Père_ , you are too cruel," Nicolas lightly admonished.

But Augustine was unphased. "Don't worry, my dear. He said similarly in the coach."

"And she knows I speak rationally," his father informed, returning to his food. "She only hates getting wet."

All but Augustine grinned at that as she rebutted, "Which you are completely unsympathetic to."

" _No_ ," he corrected. "It is because you are so concerned that rain will ruin your dress, your shoes, your hair, and whatever else, when it's really of no consequence, especially during such an ordinary shower as today's. With or without rain, you always look lovely. Must I remind you every time the weather is not in your favor?"

Nicolas and Lumière briefly caught each other's eye at that moment, smirking, and managed to keep firm caps on their laughter while Augustine blushed. "Of _course_ not, dear, but even _you_ must admit to having a bias in regards to me."

"Bias or no, I would give you my honest opinion if you only asked."

"Would that mean, then," Lumière chimed in, "that your opinion would differ on another occasion? Apart from madame looking 'lovely,' that is."

"Naturally," Étienne responded, ever composed. "I could think she looks charming, or radiant. Perhaps even exquisite." He eyed the maître d' cunningly, knowing he had been trying to make him stumble, and Lumière gave him a respectful nod of approval.

The servants took their bowls away and brought out the entrée, cuts of seasoned veal with crudités, while they continued to chat.

"So, _mes enfants_ ," Augustine addressed, turning to the betrothed pair, "how were your mornings?"

"Quite pleasant, I would say," Nicolas replied.

"Rather quiet," Babette added with a glance at her fiancé.

"Oui, that as well," he agreed with a smile. "We were only studying in the library."

"The books or… other subjects?" Lumière playfully inquired, watching for Babette's reaction.

Babette knew better than to deign him with a response, but it seemed Nicolas rolled his eyes for the both of them. "We were _reading_ , Lumière. I had a copy of one of Madame de La Fayette's novels, and Babette was reading—sorry, _re-_ reading Ovid," he amended when she corrected him with a sly look.

"Perhaps I misunderstood," Lumière teased to Nicolas. "Was it not mademoiselle who was reading the _romance_ novel?"

"Are you suggesting that I could not be reading Roman philosophers?" Babette sharply countered.

Lumière had expected her to reply as such, and was eager to have her become more active in the discussion. He opened his mouth to respond, but Nicolas promised her, "Not at all, Babette. He only meant to tease me."

"He is right, mademoiselle," Lumière confirmed. He placed another meaning behind his words that she was sure to catch. "I am sorry that you were caught in our volley, but I must warn you that there may be much more incidents like that in store while I am here."

Babette stared back resentfully, though her poker face was quite concealing from the rest, especially since Augustine was remarking with jest, "Gracious, Lumière, we happen to _like_ Babette's company! There will be no need to attempt scaring her off."

He placed a hand over his heart to double his words. "I promise you, madame, I would not dream of it. But…" His eyes shifted to Babette. "… it seems to me mademoiselle is not so easily intimidated."

Babette arched an eyebrow, slightly inclining her head to him. "You flatter me, monsieur."

His gaze was steadfast. "It is not flattery if it is fact."

Her expression was unreadable, and she was the first to look away to her veal, but he believed he saw that marvelous shade of pink he had loved to indulge in before appear on her cheeks. He returned to his meal as well, but he could feel Nicolas eyeing him with curiosity from across the table.

Again, that course was removed and replaced by dessert: small, colorful bowls of fresh fruit.

"Where were we?" Augustine thought aloud, having become engrossed in the course prior. "Ah! Of course," she turned to Lumière. "What news is there to report from le Château du Lac?"

"I never wish to disappoint, madame, but I am afraid business at the château is as usual as before."

Étienne swallowed his bite of strawberry to answer swiftly, "Still, I imagine even if it really were so dull there that you would have gone out of your way to entertain yourself."

"True, but you would be surprised how little of risks I take under Their Majesties' employment. You haven't forgotten that we have an English majordomo, have you?"

"Does he still keep his eye on you?"

"Oui, and not merely one, but both."

As Étienne chuckled, Augustine said, "I remember we discussed him during your previous visit."

"I always have much to say about him, madame," Lumière insinuated. "But you can trust, despite Cogsworth, I have much to keep myself entertained."

"Somehow, Lumière, I find it difficult to be reassured by that," Nicolas alluded.

All save for the viscountess next to him, laughed. Babette had not reacted to Lumière once since they started on dessert.

Then, an idea jumped into Lumière's head and out of his mouth without any prudent regulation. "Now that I think on it more… I suppose I have something worth mentioning from the château."

He was watching Babette, who did not look up, but hesitated in her eating. They all listened as he continued, "A few months ago, we had a new resident join our staff."

As he desired, she met his eyes. Threatening and deadly, hers were filled with the blue fire that had ignited his passion for her from the start.

A shadow of a smirk appeared on his mouth that only she saw. He quickly erased it as Augustine asked, "A new resident? It _is_ rather uncommon to often take one in, I assume."

" _C'est ça_ , since the last one was hired over a year ago. Interestingly," Lumière went on as his eyes passed over Babette, who was definitely putting in effort to maintain her calm, "at least from what I had noticed, we did not have an open position available, yet we accepted her readily. Then again, I believe I was one of very few who took notice."

Augustine appeared delighted at this intrigue. "It _does_ sound peculiar… You say this was a woman?"

"I thought of her more… as a girl," he voiced, again peeking over at Babette for her reaction. Her eyes flashed to his very quickly before she took a deep breath discreetly through her nose.

"Is there really a difference with you?" Nicolas taunted.

"Come now, _mon ami_ ," Lumière spoke loftily, "you know I maintain a set of standards when it comes to my unique brand of shenanigans."

"Which happen to include women," Nicolas added matter-of-factly.

"Oui, _women_. Not girls." He said this exclusively to Nicolas, but even out of his peripherals, he could see Babette minutely shake her head as she quietly ate her fruit. Her clear aggravation of him that only he could detect was just adding fuel to his fire.

"What was her position?" Augustine inquired, never allowing their short digressions to distract her.

He glanced at Babette, who was stubbornly attentive to her dessert, before saying cryptically, "One that was discreet and concealing."

Her mind figuring, Augustine furrowed her brow in thought before she guessed, "She was a maid, wasn't she?"

Lumière smiled. "Certainly, madame. A face in a crowd, as I imagine was her intention."

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he could see Babette's jaw tightening. He almost wished he could laugh at her exertions from—more literally than not—biting her tongue.

Finished with his dessert, Étienne set down his spoon as he prompted sarcastically, "Well? Have you managed to discover her intentions? Is there a conspiracy you're perhaps leading us towards?"

"Unfortunately, her stay was very brief," Lumière admitted. "Barely three months, but… I did manage to observe her, as she also was on my staff during that time."

At this point, Lumière knew he had Babette's full attention, despite the lack of its appearance. She was taking in every word.

"Are you any nearer to your point than five minutes ago?" Nicolas asked as drily as his father would have.

Lumière laughed. "All right, all right, I concede. I mention this because…" He lowered his tone to emphasize his words. "I have reason to believe this maid was not who she claimed herself to be."

All of their reactions were different. Augustine, who always enjoyed the way Lumière told stories, was astonished at hearing this revelation. Nicolas looked to actually be about to take him seriously, but his father still looked skeptical.

Babette, meanwhile, had finally allowed herself to watch him, and appeared silently resigned.

While Lumière had been observing them, he had decided to take the second bite of his dessert. But as soon as he closed his mouth to chew, a sharp pain out of nowhere shot into his foot.

He started in his seat, his leg automatically recoiling from the attack. His hand flew to his mouth to keep his food in it, and as his foot began to throb painfully, he couldn't stifle part of a groan from being heard.

The de Créquy were now looking at him in alarm.

"Lumière!" Augustine exclaimed. "Are you all right?"

At her address, he glanced up immediately across from him to see Babette wearing the ideal expression of surprised concern, but her miniature smirk gave herself away.

He stared at her in disbelief. There was no doubt: She had stomped her heel into his foot. _Hard._

 _I should have seen that coming_ , Lumière scolded to himself. Even when believing that he completely understood her, he hadn't been aware of having surpassed the limit of Babette's patience. Of all things, that should have been most obvious to him.

But her message was received, and a little too well.

He didn't take his hand from his mouth until he had swallowed the rest of his food. He cleared his throat and composed himself, waving off their concern. "Oui, oui, I am fine." Exchanging a pointed glance with Babette, he lied, "I only… bit my tongue."

Étienne had to smile as he suggested, "Perhaps you were overusing it."

Nicolas chuckled in agreement. His fiancée couldn't help herself either. A little laugh escaped her lips, but she quickly silenced it behind a secretly triumphant grin.

As his friend gratefully moved the discussion to another topic, Lumière agreed with the count, and kept himself silent for the remainder of the meal.

* * *

When they had finished, they retired to Augustine's favorite _petit salon,_ which faced the front court and gardens. The weather had been what it was; still rainy with no clear breaking in the clouds.

Lumière was obliged to sit on the long chaise next to Nicolas, since the only other seats were two armchairs, and the count and his wife always took their places there. Babette sat on Nicolas opposite side, completely obscuring her from his view. At this point, however, he was far from complaining. His foot still ached, and when they had stood from lunch, it had been harder than he had expected to keep any sign of a limp from showing.

Even if her attack had been warranted, he still felt justified in his reasoning for making her squirm. The pain in his foot would pass, but his pleasure out of watching her reactions to his words would outlast his visit. Of that, he was certain.

Plus, despite how stomping someone's foot under a table in front of future in-laws wasn't exactly unheard of, his shock at it dwelled. He was naturally incensed by Babette's attack. Not only because it was definitely going to leave a rather sensitive bruise, but she had expected him to cover for her actions. He almost felt like an advocate to her and this web of lies they must spin to protect Nicolas.

And that was the rub: He wasn't even entirely sure of her motives. Did she really love Nicolas, sincerely and truly? It was clear she was a fine actress, both in her natural society and otherwise, so why couldn't that also be the case? He didn't _want_ to peg her as conniving and manipulative, for she was far from it. But for concern of his friend, he had to take that into consideration. The stakes were very high for Babette, he understood that. But to what end would she go to make sure she won out?

He knew in regards to her time at Château du Lac that she had been under orders to keep her identity a secret. It had almost seemed necessary in that circumstance. Here and now, it was different. If she had told Nicolas from the start where she had been before Christmas, Lumière would have been the first to hear about it from the viscount, and therefore this all could have been avoided. But Babette had chosen to conceal everything and hide behind another story involving a convent. A _convent!_

Lumière had to grip the arm of the chaise to keep from face-palming himself. The irresponsibility and selfishness of it all made him wish he could pull her aside and shake an explanation out of her.

But the truth of it, as much as it ate him up inside, couldn't be revealed now. He had to wait ever so patiently for the right opportunity to corner her for the answers he knew he deserved.

Like the end of lunch, he had not trusted himself to contribute too much more to the conversation, but he still made himself snap out of his thoughts. Since Augustine was always readily able to initiate and renew any discussion, she would be expecting him to offer his witty remarks. He only did so this time when directly spoken to.

He might have glanced at the mantel clock too often, but he was anxious to get Nicolas alone. At least he would be able to satisfy a few of Lumière's burning questions to what Nicolas did and didn't know about Mlle de Chantemerle. Though the notion would have never occurred to him before this, he desperately wanted Babette to leave, if only so that he could talk privately with his friend.

After a couple more agonizing hours, the evening was fast-approaching. Augustine entreated Babette to stay for dinner, but thankfully—in Lumière's case, that is—she declined, saying she was expected home. They all walked her to the foyer, and as they waited for the coach, and for Renaud to fetch her cloak, the countess expressed how she looked forward to seeing Babette in two days.

"Hopefully, the weather would be clear by then," Augustine went on. "I am rather desperate to take a walk through the gardens."

"I share your feelings, madame," Babette replied sincerely. "If the weather _does_ clear, I would be more than happy to join you."

 _I am no longer the only one casting enchantments,_ Lumière noted as Augustine smiled at her affectionately.

"Who was it you said you were dining with tomorrow?" the countess asked.

"Monsieur Accary and his wife."

"Oh yes, right. We've had them dine with us as well." She tried her best to not seem imposing. "Now I am sure your mother knows this, but make sure during their visit that the conversation is dictated. Monsieur Accary has a tendency to digress."

"Often," her husband annexed in a bitter tone. "I almost believe he can make time stand still."

Babette pursed her lips to keep from laughing. "We wouldn't want that. That would mean I would be delayed from returning to your company."

The compulsion to roll his eyes was too strong for Lumière to resist. Nicolas happened to notice and cocked his head at him, his eyes full of inquiry.

The maître d' grimaced with regret at his slip, and inclined his head towards the stairs, signaling that they would talk later. Nicolas affirmed it with a nod.

During their silent conversation, Renaud had retrieved Babette's cloak and the coach was waiting in the drive. Babette curtseyed to her hosts, but gave a special smile and wink to Nicolas, who basked in it based on his broad grin.

Only out of politeness it seemed, did Babette incline her head to Lumière. For her higher social rank, he gave her a small bow.

They held their gazes for hardly a second, but because they were meticulously reading each other, it seemed for much longer. With some defiance, Babette broke the connection and walked out the front door.

In vain, Lumière had only gathered what he had already known: her determined stubbornness, self-righteousness, and pride.


	5. The Sin of Partiality

_Chapter Five: The Sin of Partiality_

With Babette gone, Lumière allowed himself to relax, though only by the smallest margin. He wished he could talk more freely than he trusted himself to.

Even when Babette was not around, he had to give false impressions of his opinion of her, all the while concealing the truth. He had the most certain feeling in his gut that this was just the beginning of a very nasty end. Could they keep pretending until her and Nicolas are wed, or did she expect to maintain this secret for the rest of her married life?

 _I will be damned if she believes I would carry on like this for as long as these next three weeks,_ Lumière swore. _She has already expected too much from me._

It was incredibly difficult for him to keep these reflections at bay through dinner, so he made sure to consume enough wine to remain in the present without sacrificing his awareness.

It was a few hours past sunset when they decided to turn in, and after trading "bonne nuits" with Augustine and Étienne, Nicolas and Lumière walked side-by-side down the halls to their respective rooms as though the maître d' had never left. But in the back of Lumière's mind, he was constructing how he would phrase his questions to Nicolas about Babette so they revealed nothing of his residual feelings toward her. After the trial he had just endured, any love he held for her was easier to temporarily set aside, especially for a friend of almost two decades.

When they reached their wing, they paused at Lumière's door. After a glance at it, Lumière was about to begin leading into his argument, but Nicolas got to it first. "You aren't too exhausted from socializing to maybe do a little more, are you?"

"If by 'socializing', you mean only you and I, then you read my mind, _mon ami_ ," Lumière replied with some relief at his willingness.

Nicolas smiled at his consent. "Let us talk in my room, then. My curiosity cannot last until tomorrow."

" _Your_ curiosity? Now I know you _must_ have read my mind!"

Upon rounding the corner of the hall, Nicolas opened his door. "After you."

Lumière slid between him and the door, grandly gesturing, "Oh no, after _you_ , Monsieur Fiancé."

The viscount glared, but obliged him. "Why does it only sound insulting when _you_ say it?"

"Because I am the farthest from having my own wedding as a confirmed bachelor can be," Lumière replied with ease as he shut the door.

"How can you sound so confident?" Nicolas had to ask while he made his way over to the chaise. "Do you really doubt you will meet a woman worthy enough to marry?"

"It was never a question of worth, Nicolas. I have met plenty of women who would make charming wives. I merely happen to enjoy my freedom, and getting married would put an end to all of that." He gave his friend an apologetic shrug. "It is a pity you will soon lose your own."

"You will change your mind someday," he concluded, wagging his finger at him as Lumière joined him in the armchair across from him. "I'm sure of it. All it would take is a mademoiselle who could keep your ego in check rather than feeding it."

Crossing his ankle over his knee, Lumière countered, "I know I am only agreeing with you by saying this, but that would certainly take a very rare woman, which even if such a woman existed"— _Of my rank,_ he had to note to himself—"marriage would not be necessary."

Nicolas made a movement to retort but he held up a hand. "And before you say anymore, I did not realize I had agreed to discussing my way of life with you. I hope that is not what you had in mind."

Nicolas deflated back into his seat. "You're right, of course. My apologies."

"There's no need, _mon ami,_ " Lumière dismissed encouragingly. "You are betrothed, after all."

With a grimace, he corrected, "Well… not publicly. We are both taking our time coming to terms with that fact, but if you asked either of our parents, they would say we are engaged."

An eyebrow shot up. "Have you proposed?"

"That is one of the downsides to an arranged marriage, I suppose; a grand, romantic proposal would seem redundant."

Lumière froze. He had forgotten that Babette had precisely told him this fact on Christmas Eve. Still, he went on, "I… did not realize this was arranged."

Nicolas jumped forward in his seat, chastising, "No, no, no, don't take that tone! Your pity can come later. I have _agreed_ to the arrangement. We all have."

Lumière nodded, but his mind was still whirring. " _Bien_ , but… she is _the_ Élisabeth de Chantemerle, the infamous coquette of La Clayette."

His friend seemed to be well-aware as he inquired, "Is she what you expected?"

The maître d' still eyed him with uncertainty. "Not… based on what I had heard."

"Precisely," Nicolas confirmed with a smile. "She is not what the rumors have told."

"Rumors are founded in truth, Nicolas."

"Perhaps, but clearly she has put that part of herself behind her."

The maître d' rested his chin on his fist in mock-thought. "Which part? The open flirting in taverns or the amorous meetings behind them?"

With his friend's cynicism on display, Nicolas furrowed his brow. "Lumière… I am surprised you are reacting this way. She and you are not so different in that regard."

Straightening with muted indignation, he replied, "And for that reason, I should be considered responsible for vowing to never marry. She clearly has not done the same."

"Because it is rather impossible in her position," Nicolas reminded with growing passion. "She has an obligation to marry, as do I, so that our bloodlines can continue. You are fortunate enough to have a choice at all, and you know it."

Lumière couldn't argue, despite having plenty of reasons against this match, but frankly, he didn't want to pick a fight. Not this soon.

Taking this as his yielding, Nicolas resumed more contently, "Now, putting all prejudices aside, what did you think of her?"

He tried to be as honest as he could be. "She was… very guarded."

"I agree. She seems to become especially reserved around new acquaintances. I don't think she trusts very easily… perhaps for good reason." Nicolas eyed him with a bit of a smirk. "You were cautious in your own way."

"How couldn't I be?" Lumière replied like it was obvious. "I recognized her name in an instant. Not to mention, might I add… she clearly has your heart."

"That is an exaggeration!" he staunchly defended. "I am very fond of her and care for her deeply, but my heart is still my own. You must be confusing it for fascination."

"Or you are keen on denying it." As Nicolas gave him a look of warning, Lumière continued, "Either way, I am only trying to remain impartial. Is that not why you asked for my opinion in the first place?"

Wearing a disgruntled pout, he muttered, "I am not used to you being the one between us to speak sense. I don't like it."

"If it is any consolation, neither do I."

They both laughed, and Lumière felt his tension inside ease ever slightly.

After a pause, Nicolas watched him with expectation. "Is there… anything else you noticed about her?"

Lumière didn't anticipate another round of this question. What else could he say? If they had actually met that day, what would he have gathered from such a brief and concealed glimpse of who she really was?

As the maître d' stumbled for an answer, Nicolas stared at him in disbelief. "Please tell me you are joking."

Lumière glanced up at him, sincerely confused. "What do you mean?"

He became incredulous. "You didn't even take notice?"

Even more perplexed, Lumière could only offer an innocent shrug.

"Unbelievable!" Nicolas cried accusingly. "Who are you and what have you done with my friend?"

Glaring back, he retorted, "And you say _I_ can never get to my point!"

With the grand hyperbole that sometimes accompanies a dumb question, Nicolas asked, "How did she _look_ , Lumière?"

He gapped like a fish for a moment until he realized Nicolas was absolutely right. How did he not think to mention that, of all things? Babette's beauty had been the first feature of her many fine qualities that he had noticed. It had even struck him dumb upon meeting her.

Lumière fell back against his chair, shaking his head at his own stupidity. He covered his eyes. "Oh _mon Dieu_ … I am so sorry, Nicolas _._ "

"For you, I should say so!" Nicolas agreed, having to smirk at his friend's shame.

Still bewildered, he stared at the floor. "I had committed my attention to everything _else…_ _Incroyable._ " Lumière looked to his friend. "Allow me to rectify that immediately."

He pulled up a vision of her in his mind's eye, and permitted himself to be taken in by her curves, ruby red smirk, and bright blue stare full of mischief. He took a deep breath as though he could breathe her in.

 _Do not get carried away,_ he warned himself before complimenting in the utmost seriousness, "Nicolas, I may have never seen a more alluring creature."

The dimples in his cheeks appeared. "Isn't she beautiful?"

"In that regard, I do envy you," he added without thinking.

Nicolas let out a laugh. "From pity to envy. My, your opinion of her changed quickly!"

"Not quite," Lumière corrected, determined to keep a steady head. "Beauty is far from the most important quality in a wife."

" _C'est vrai_ ," he acknowledged with a nod. "But in all honesty, her appearance complements her character extraordinarily well. I have found her far more attractive as I have gotten to know her. I only hope the same will happen to you."

The maître d' leaned his chin on his hand thoughtfully. "Then we must make opportunities so that it might."

Noting his conniving grin, Nicolas prompted, "What did you have in mind?"

"The next time she visits—with weather accommodating—let us join her and madame for their garden stroll. With your help, I am sure we can arrange it so that _you_ are walking with your mother, leaving _me_ to be a willing escort for _ta chère_ mademoiselle."

Nicolas pursed his lips. "I don't know, only because I know she will suspect our intentions."

"Then we make sure she does not notice them until a moment too late. Besides, I only need the few minutes a turn in the gardens provides. What's more, you will practically be within earshot. Trust me, she will have nothing to object to."

"If you are sure of it, then I have no objections. I think that will be a good start." He gave his friend a nod of approval, but then eyed him with teasing accusation. "That is, if you aren't as obnoxious as you were at luncheon today."

Lumière looked at him like he had grown another head. " _Obnoxious?_ "

"Yes! It was like you were… _testing_ her," the viscount said, seeming baffled at the notion. "So oui, I think it a rather apt word to describe the way you were acting!"

Lumière crossed his arms. "Well, I wouldn't call that my most subtle work, but I certainly wouldn't call it ' _obnoxious_.' Does it occur to you that maybe had you not been so intent on criticizing my behavior that—if you had removed the stars from your eyes and heart from your ears—you would have noticed her testing _me?_ "

Nicolas waved it off. "She was not _nearly_ as bad. I definitely don't recall any _eye-rolling_ to anything _you_ may have said, though plenty deserved that response."

With a breath, he acknowledged with some remorse. "All right, I admit that was a rather poorly checked reflex on my part. I did not mean any offense."

"Of course you didn't," Nicolas eased, "but… I'm too curious not to ask what caused it in the first place."

"You say that _I_ can put an enchantment on your parents, but she made it very clear I am only the first."

Nicolas smirked. "Is she impeding on your territory?"

 _In a manner of speaking,_ but he denied, "Of course not. Like you said, we need to become better acquainted. Then perhaps I will not be so quick to judge."

The viscount sighed as he glanced at the hearth. "I suppose I can see where you're coming from. A reputation can precede the best of us."

Eyeing him curiously, Lumière checked, "Are you referring to me?"

"Well… Before I had agreed to meet her, I was as skeptical as you are now," he admitted. "But then I remembered those petty rumors with the Levís' maid."

It took him a second to remember, but Lumière shook his head at the memory. "The product of a scorned woman's tongue."

"Exactly."

He jumped on the opening to ask his long-desired question, "Are you trying to say that what has been said about mademoiselle is not true?"

Nicolas then looked flustered. "I… have not had them confirmed. I just have chosen not to pay them any attention."

A sinking feeling crept into Lumière as he stared. "Nicolas, do you really think that is wise?"

"Maybe it's not," Nicolas acknowledged as he sat straighter, "but I felt it only right to give her a chance, and so far, she has proven the gossip wrong. On Wednesday, I can promise you will start to see for yourself."

His friend sounded so sure of this that, though he craved a more thorough interrogation, Lumière felt he had no choice but to resign, at least for now.

With a determined nod, he assured Nicolas, "I will take your word for it."

* * *

Without the risk of Babette's presence the following day, Lumière would have hoped it would be like she had never been a part of their lives. But after the previous night's discussion, he was finding it hard to concentrate on little else.

 _He knows_ nothing, Lumière kept thinking in bewilderment. _It is worse than I thought._

It was Nicolas' _choice_ to be ignorant. That baffled him beyond comprehension. It even made him wonder if Babette had done something to make him avoid the issue. What could she have possibly said for him to be _content_ to remain ignorant about her numerous affairs? Was he that blinded by her charms?

It wasn't like his friend to be this careless. Lumière had to remind him somehow. But as much as he wished he could, it wouldn't be effective in the slightest to try to snap Nicolas out of his trance with her. He would have to ease him out of it, little by little.

But was that a betrayal against Babette?

 _Perhaps… but then again, it is well-deserved_ , Lumière argued. Any allegiance to her could be disregarded in this circumstance, a circumstance in which _she_ was the sole cause. In fact, it felt like this all was an act of betrayal against _him_ and what they had shared. A careless, conceited undertaking that seemed tinged with vengeance, as though _he_ had been to blame for the pleasure and pain that had occurred between them.

He was getting more furious with her the more he thought about it.

By Wednesday morning, Lumière was resolute in his reasoning that Babette was completely at fault for their predicament.

* * *

The Chantemerle's open-air coach arrived at La Bazolle promptly at noon. Renaud ran out to assist the viscountess down its steps while the de Créquy and Lumière gathered in the foyer. As hoped for, blue skies had returned and the temperature was mild, the most ideal for a garden stroll.

The boys had confirmed following through with their plan only an hour before, but Lumière glanced at Nicolas to make sure of it right before Babette walked in. The viscount gave him a firm wink.

Lumière took a deep breath through his nose to calm his jitters. His anticipation to finally corner Babette was at its peak.

Typical greetings proceeded amongst everyone, and all the while, Lumière couldn't take his eyes off of Mlle de Chantemerle, though she seemed determined to look anywhere _but_ him. At this observation, he had to grin.

"Now, Babette," Augustine began with a glint in her eye, "I hope you have not forgotten your promise to me from the other day."

With a tilt of her head, Babette replied with a coy smile, "Forgotten? That was all that was on my mind on the way here!"

Augustine laughed, enthused by her answer. " _Ma chère_ , you could not have said better! Come! I will give you the grand tour of my gardens."

Before the gentlemen followed, Lumière took that moment to cock an eyebrow at Nicolas to wordlessly say, _Didn't I tell you?_ Nicolas had to concede with a small shrug.

But halfway down the hall, Étienne paused before the first floor study to impart, "Enjoy the great outdoors, _mes enfants._ "

Augustine spun around, looking disappointed. "Must you check the accounts this very moment?"

"My dear, you know I've been putting them off," her husband astutely reminded. "I will not be far; I can watch over you all from this window. So when you see it, _do_ think of me."

With an expression of light reprove to his mocking sentimentality, Augustine picked up her skirts again and countered with poise, "I think there will be too much to see in the gardens to deign your window a glance, darling."

Étienne cracked a smile, clearly pleased. "Why, I would agree most naturally, Your Grace, but only because you will be a part of them."

With Augustine clearly delighted, they shared secret smiles before Étienne moved to lock himself in his study. As he passed the count, Lumière managed to catch his eye, inclining his head to him as though to say, _You have done well, my pupil._

Étienne shook his head at his ridiculousness and shooed him off, but he looked about to laugh as he closed his door.

Turning his eyes forward again, Lumière saw Babette appear to have loved observing such a rare interaction between the Comte and Comtesse de Drée. She looked to Nicolas with teasing wonder, giggling when Nicolas jokingly rolled his eyes and shook his head. Her fiancé smiled as she laughed.

After witnessing that display, the step out of doors was most welcome. Lumière breathed in the scents of the grass and gardens' blooms to keep himself steady.

Augustine called Babette forward to her side and walked very leisurely through the parterres as she pointed out the flowers in their beds. Babette looked to be a willing participant in the countess' enthusiasm, asking questions on where Augustine had found some of them and remarking on their beauty. It was quite a contrast to the aloofness she had maintained since Lumière had arrived.

"She really brightens out here, doesn't she?"

Nicolas' comment shook Lumière out of his close observations. With a brief glance at his friend, he replied with some quick thinking, "Are you sure it is not merely the sun at work?"

Nicolas stared at him with bemusement. "I never could have dreamed it would be this hard for her to extract a compliment out of you."

Lumière checked the distance between them and the women before he reminded, "I agreed she was beautiful, did I not?"

"Oui," the viscount said in a dry tone. "As easily as pulling teeth from a tiger."

Lumière chuckled. "Only in regards to you am I this hard to please." He tried not to sound as dubious as he felt. "If she succeeds, my approval will have been more worth the earning."

Relenting a little unwillingly, Nicolas quietly sighed.

Arriving at the core of the gardens, the four of them stood before a wide, circular fountain. At the center of the pool, neoclassic sculptures of twin men sat on rough stones facing opposing sides. One bore an ornamented shield while the other held up a ladder horn seashell. A Grecian urn at their backs showered water over them, and the fish lounging at their sides also had spouts at their mouths.

"And who might these gentlemen be?" Babette inquired as she admired the craftsmanship.

Nicolas stepped forward to her. "Have I really never told you?"

With a playful reprove, she countered, "Have you been remiss in your hosting duties?"

"It is almost as if they blended in with the statuary," Nicolas attempted to quip with a grin. Lumière openly cringed while Babette bit her lip in an attempt to stifle her laughter.

Nicolas eyed the maître d' past Babette as though to say, _She_ laughed, _didn't she?_

Lumière subtly shook his head, replying with only a look, _Not at the joke._

Babette looked curiously over her shoulder at him, but he had already moved on to murmur similar thoughts to Augustine.

Choosing to ignore his friend and his mother's giggling, Nicolas continued, "Well, allow me to introduce you then to Castor and Pollux."

Familiarity lit up her eyes. She looked between the two sculptures. "Which one is which?"

Nicolas shrugged, as much at a loss. "I still have not been able to figure that out. I _do_ know that my grandfather had commissioned this fountain to be specifically of Castor and Pollux, since in classic times, they represented skilled equestrians."

She glanced to him to confirm. "A family tradition, oui?"

Nicolas smiled at how she remembered. "Right."

"I remember reading that story to you two as boys," Augustine recalled. "It was quite the favorite of yours."

Lumière smirked. "We found it rather relatable."

Confused at this answer, Nicolas said, "I think you're mistaken. The concept of bride-stealing hadn't occurred to us until we were well in our teens."

With a roll of his eyes, he corrected, " _Mon ami,_ I was referring to their willingness to sacrifice themselves for each other. _Obviously_."

Though Nicolas tried to seem annoyed, he couldn't keep his dimples from showing.

"I certainly hope it would be the latter," Augustine annexed with a motherly glance at the two of them.

Babette lofted a skeptical eyebrow only long enough for Lumière to see. His jaw tightened as he thought, _If she doubts I would sacrifice myself for Nicolas—_

"Oh my!" Augustine exclaimed, reminiscence on her features. "I find myself strolling down memory lane! Darling," she called, reaching for Nicolas as she took to his side, "why don't you muse me for a while. I cannot seem to recall the other stories I read to you when you were younger."

Taking his arm, mother and son began a path toward the rest of the gardens. Nicolas glanced over his shoulder and gave Babette a helpless shrug, but exchanged a look with Lumière that clearly said, _Have at it._

Of all the ways their plan might have been executed, this was certainly the least expected. Had Nicolas told his mother about it?

 _Brilliant job, madame_ , Lumière admired.

He deliberately made his steps resound on the gravel as he came next to Babette, who suddenly seemed paler than a moment ago.

Calling on his cavalier grin that he knew would cause Babette to fume, Lumière offered his arm. "Mademoiselle?"

Babette met his eyes, and he saw the frightened doe that she had once been as a newly employed servant.

But in an instant, they turned cold and steely. Lifting her chin, she turned her head away from him and began to follow after her fiancé with hastened steps.

Lumière took a deep breath to steel himself. "Have it your way," he muttered.

Catching up to her with ease, she had slowed to a leisurely stride. The path that Nicolas and Augustine had entered was only wide enough for two.

After taking into account the few meters of distance between Nicolas, his mother, and them, Lumière matched his volume appropriately low. "I hope you were not planning to run."

Babette refused to look at him and stared ahead. "Did you really expect me to run in what I am wearing?"

"I imagine you could find a way if you really wanted to." In a modest attempt to be civil, he added, "You look well."

She remained unphased. "You know I can tell when you are not being sincere."

"I would like to assume so," he replied with a sidelong glance at her, "but lately it has become difficult for me to assume anything when it comes to you."

"Then do not make assumptions."

Anger flared inside him, but he managed to keep his voice down. "How about _I_ become engaged to your best friend without any warning? Then you can tell me how to not make assumptions in my current position."

Babette's eyes fell as she breathed deeply. "What do you want?"

" _Answers_." Lumière checked ahead of him before asking, "How long have you known he was my friend?"

"Since February."

He stared at her deliberately to make her meet his eyes. "And you did not think it worth sending a letter of any kind to let me know?"

"I was only thinking of Nicolas." He received a tiny glance in his direction. "You of all people should understand that."

"I am afraid I don't see the lack of selfishness in refusing to give me warning," he sneered.

"If you swallowed your pride for once, then it would be easy," she snapped.

"Forgive me then," he said with an exasperated shrug. "The logic behind any of your actions thus far has evaded me."

She finally looked him in the eye. "You are his best friend. He talks of you like a brother. If you had refused to come and meet me, he would have been so disappointed."

"Nicolas is a grown man," he reminded, doubting the sincerity of her intentions. "He was taking care of himself long before you came along. And apparently, he has become so enamored with you that you have convinced him to forget all of the scandals you left behind."

" _I_ did not convince him to do anything," she retorted vehemently. "It was his choice, and he insisted."

"He does not realize the cost of his own charity. With the amount of secrets you keep, it is as if he hardly knows you at all."

As self-righteous as ever, she said, " _That_ is where you are wrong."

He had to look away. She was so convinced she was in the right, yet all he was hearing sounded like nonsense. "Do you honestly expect me to maintain this ridiculous… _charade_ about a convent for you?"

Her gaze seemed to grab him by the throat. "I do, because if I fall, then I am taking you with me. And if you _dare_ try to reveal _anything_ about me, especially of the château, I can guarantee the consequences will be _much_ worse than a bruise on your foot."

During her words, Lumière had felt the urge to shy away at the intense hostility of her expression, but he refused to bend.

His teeth clenched. "This all could have been avoided if you had trusted me to make up an excuse not to come."

With less heat but with no less bite, she countered, "You have made it _quite_ clear that you do not trust me, so why should I have returned the favor?"

Lumière narrowed his eyes, wanting desperately to refute her, especially since Babette was daring him to say more. But any coherent thought he had was lost in his agitation.

He broke their stare, tightening the hands at his back into fists. _Impossible woman!_

They had all rounded back to the main path by then, and Nicolas and Augustine paused to check on them. Lumière hurriedly relaxed his features as Babette tried not to look as though she wanted to place distance between her and the man at her side.

Augustine rubbed her fingers as she looked at them in turn. "It seems a bit cooler than before, don't you think? How about we head in for some tea?"

They each gave their own affirmations, with Lumière's being particularly reserved, Babette's grateful, and Nicolas' content. Augustine seemed curious about the maître d', but didn't say a word about it as she took the lead back into the maison.

Making sure to stay at the back of the party, Lumière had to allow himself to wallow in his own frustration. He had felt no relief, not even the slightest hint of satisfaction that he had so longed for, from interrogating Babette. On the contrary, he was incensed by her overconfident replies.

Was this all he had to look forward to these next three weeks? Deceit and concealed hostility?

For the rest of the evening, dread settled in his stomach, where it remained and began to curdle the hopes for deliverance he had dared foster.


	6. Misunderstandings

_Chapter Six: Misunderstandings_

Though he fought long and hard to prevent them, Lumière's attention was bogged down by Babette's words as the evening went through its progressions.

 _Stubborn, irrational, and conceited!_ he defined them. _And she has the audacity to call me proud. It's laughable!_

She must think that her threats held some weight to react in the way she did. But in all honesty, what could she do that did not compromise herself in this arrangement? There was nothing she could _really_ say that would hurt him without running the risk of giving herself away. And wasn't that precisely what she was trying so hard to prevent? Like the majority of her social counterparts, her words had no substance.

Unfortunately, that left him stuck in the same conundrum. He had made the decision to lie about his relationship with Babette from the start, so there was no turning back now. The one thing Lumière could do to make this vacation any worse was to tell his best friend that he had been deceived by his former valet _and_ his fiancée. Their friendship could take a great amount of pressure, but that would certainly push it to its limits. He did not want to test it when he needed Nicolas on his side more than ever.

Even in the midst of trying to be sociable, an attractive idea occurred to him: Why not another boys' night at the local tavern?

 _Heaven knows how badly I deserve a stiff drink,_ Lumière rationalized. _Not to mention Nicolas' reasoning can be more malleable after he's had a few himself._ Now was a better time than any to try and convince him that this was an imprudent match.

His mood lifting a little at this new plan, Lumière participated more heartily in the de Créquy's passionate debate on Étienne's brothers. Though they certainly tried to include her despite her ignorance of the subject, thankfully, Babette was easy to ignore.

* * *

Mlle de Chantemerle did not leave until after dark. Fortunately, that was when taverns came alive.

It did not take much to persuade Nicolas for a night out, but Augustine insisted they take the carriage, and that they would be sent for around eleven.

"I have never heard a more stupidly dangerous act than riding on horseback while inebriated," she reminded them. "I have heard _far_ too many stories of someone getting trampled to think that consequence uncommon. When it comes to you boys, I would much rather be safe than sorry."

"If using the carriage grants you peace of mind, then we are the last to object, madame," Lumière gracefully said.

"Merci, Maman," Nicolas said as he gave her a goodnight kiss.

"Good night, my dears," Augustine replied, imparting the same gesture to Lumière. "Enjoy yourselves, but not _too_ much, _comprenez?_ And do not keep Zacharie waiting."

"Oui, Maman." "As you wish, madame," they promised before they bowed out of the parlor.

After fetching their coats themselves, the boys met the coach out front. With appreciative nods to Zacharie, they hopped in and were soon rolling down the drive toward town.

"So," Nicolas began as he played with his leather gloves, "is there an occasion we are celebrating, perhaps in regard to a more agreeable evening?"

The shadows in the coach came and went with the swinging lanterns attached to its exterior, but he could still make out Nicolas' expectant expression. "I know what you are implying," Lumière smartly replied. "But I am afraid this trip was only prompted to cure my restlessness."

"Has your opinion of her _still_ not changed?"

"After a few mugs of ale, I will be more than willing to tell you what I thought."

Nicolas groaned. "I do not like the sound of that."

Lumière had to laugh, though it was done bittersweetly.

The more pronounced clops of horseshoes on cobblestones were soon heard, and a few minutes later, the coach came to a halt.

With a reminder that he would return promptly at eleven, Zacharie shook the reins and went off to roundabout back to La Bazolle.

The raucous laughter and chatter of bourgeoisie greeted them upon entering the warm tavern. Large groups had taken up the majority of the tables, but they were able to claim their usual one in the corner.

After taking off his coat, Lumière offered to grab their drinks. As he approached the counter, a raven-haired barmaid's eyes lit up.

"Well, look who it is!" she called with a teasing smile. "Taking another break from serving royalty?"

"For a time, oui," Lumière went along, smirking. "All the more reason I came to see you."

Marion laughed. "It's good to see the château hasn't changed you either. Is Monsieur de Créquy with you?"

"Mademoiselle, I am surprised you have to ask!" he lightly chastised.

She lifted her chin proudly. "That is 'madame' to you now."

Gazing at her askance, he gave her a wry grin. " _Non_ , it cannot be! There is a man in this world deserving of your heart?"

Marion brought her left hand from the stein she was drying to show him the simple silver band now looped around her fourth finger.

He took her hand to appraise it. "As though it was meant to be there. My sincerest congratulations, madame."

"Merci, Lumière," she glowed, then waved away her felicity. "But you came up here for drinks! What did you want?"

"Two ales, and make them strong."

Marion grabbed two fresh mugs and filled them at the barrels before handing them over the counter. "There you are, _chéri._ Enjoy!"

" _Santé_ , madame," he toasted, sliding a _livre_ to her as payment.

With drinks in hand, he returned to the table to be greeted by a smirking Nicolas pretending to act impatient. "Now I remember why the last few times you've visited, I went to get the drinks myself. How's Marion?" he asked as he accepted his ale.

"Recently shackled in the binds of marriage," Lumière replied after a sip from his stein, but then shrugged. "She seems happy."

"That's wonderful news," Nicolas acknowledged sincerely, drinking some of his ale as well. "I hope Babette and I can be as lucky."

Lumière's hand clenched briefly around his mug to stifle his frustration. He did not nearly have enough alcohol in him to talk about her.

As Lumière was taking more of his drink, Nicolas came out of a brief reverie to inquire, "So tell me, _mon ami_ , how did our plan fare?"

The maître d' eyed the bubbly, brown liquid in his glass, which now looked half-full, before he mustered, "That certainly depends. I learned more than I knew before." _That her opinion of herself knows no bounds._ "But…" His lips tightened in censure. "I did not like what I heard."

Nicolas set his ale down, furrowing his brow. "What do you mean? What did she say?"

"It was not necessarily what she said, but how it was said." He shook his head. "Nicolas, I am sorry to admit this, but I do not trust her."

Nicolas slowly revolved his stein on the tabletop as he sighed. "You think she is playing me for a fool, don't you?"

"I cannot discount that as a possibility," he said with subtle confidence, "and I do not think you should either."

The viscount paused as he deliberated, before he turned his eyes to Lumière again. "Is it a… feeling you have in your gut? One you cannot deny?"

Lumière paused with some uncertainty. "I suppose so."

"I have one too, but… I believe her to be sincere." Nicolas raised a hand to hush his friend as he barreled on, "Now she may not have told me every detail about her life, but she has been honest and open with me, and with all candor, that is what matters to me most. If you knew—" But he cut himself off, unsure of his words.

An unexpected need to hear him finish caused him to instantly question, "'If I knew' what?"

Resigning, Nicolas sighed through his nose. "She told me... and do not repeat this aloud," he warned.

Normally Lumière would give a snarky reply, but he was too focused on Nicolas completing his sentence.

"She told me that…" Nicolas grimaced in empathy for the absent viscountess. "Before she met me… her heart had been broken by another."

A sense of awe fell over the maître d' as he processed this. He remembered too well that Babette had confessed to him the same sentiments for a man she had loved before. She had guarded those feelings from those around her as though she had not wanted to admit it to herself.

Choosing his words carefully, Lumière asked, "Long before she confessed this to you… what had you noticed about her behavior?"

Nicolas knit his brow in thought. "Very discreet and careful at first, but we came to an understanding early on. After that, she became more relaxed, though I suppose we were both still a little wary. This all seemed like such sensitive territory; neither of us wanted to say the wrong thing."

He tilted his head as it occurred to him, "Her confession, however… did come quite suddenly. Now that I think about it, she dropped by unexpectedly that day."

"When was this?"

Nicolas swiftly estimated, "Toward the end of March."

If Babette had known that Nicolas was Lumière's old friend since February, by then the burden of guilt from hearing Nicolas speak of him must have been too much for her. She had actually admitted to being brokenhearted months after she had returned home, after they had been forced to part.

All this time, he hadn't expected her love for him to have been rooted so deeply. With the shock of her being Nicolas' betrothed, he hadn't even taken that into consideration. Based on her words and actions thus far, he had assumed after she had left Château du Lac, she—unlike him—had moved on from those feelings without much trouble. Had he misread her completely?

"Did she say…?" Lumière's thoughts were racing too much to follow through with his question.

But Nicolas understood he was asking, _With whom?_ "Non. She didn't give too much away when she told me, but she had been trying to hide the fact since our introductions." He looked off as he remembered it. "I have never seen her more vulnerable than in that moment."

He could not doubt it. She had been referring… to _him._

Lumière's awe was swiftly replaced by shame, and here he had been trying to carry out a plan to ruin Babette's prospects. He shut his eyes. _What am I_ doing?

She had loved him, had suffered the same pain from their separation for all these weeks. And like him, she was very good at hiding it.

To allow alcohol to carry out its true purpose, he leaned back and drowned his self-disgust in the rest of his ale.

 _Idiot!_ Dieu, _she was right,_ he admitted as he set his empty mug on the table. _My pride will be the death of me._

Nicolas watched him curiously. "What are you thinking?" he prompted.

Lumière rolled his eyes at himself. "How much of a _crétin_ I must seem to you right now. And to her as well!"

"What?" He looked at him askance before he nudged him with the back of his hand. "Really, how were you to know? Even though you are good at reading others, like I said, she would be the last one to show her soft side. I do not blame you in the slightest, _mon ami_."

"It is not _your_ forgiveness I am worried about," Lumière confessed.

"I can't imagine she wouldn't show you the same courtesy," Nicolas promised. "There was little harm in your peculiar behavior the other day. I am sure she has already forgotten it by now."

 _Oh, how little you know,_ Lumière thought, before saying, "Even so… I feel some apology is in order. What kind of man would I be if I did not admit to my mistakes?"

Smiling, Nicolas nodded in approval. "Indeed!" He hesitated before quietly adding, "I remember _ton père_ saying the same."

Lumière smiled back, though it was tinged slightly by sadness. "That is one lesson I refuse to let myself forget."

"Even if it's the only one you ever learn."

As Lumière joined his friend in laughing, suddenly, another stein filled with ale slid to a halt in front of him.

Glancing up, he saw Marion wink at him while she placed another full glass by Nicolas. "I hope you boys weren't getting thirsty."

Definitely more relaxed from his drink, Nicolas waved the thought away. "Oh, never! You're a marvelous hostess, 'madame,'" he put special emphasis on the word, eyeing her with a grin. " _Félicitations._ "

Marion beamed as she did a small curtsey. "Merci, monsieur. I should say the same to you on your upcoming nuptials, oui?"

Blush rose to his cheeks and ears. "Well, I—" He cleared his throat. "You… heard about that?"

The barmaid raised an eyebrow at him. "No string of gossip gets past me. Is it not true?"

"Um… Not, uh, exactly, but…" Nicolas cleared his throat again. "Partially… true?"

It looked like Marion was trying not to laugh. "You seem unsure."

Nicolas glanced at Lumière for some help, but the amused maître d' was clearly playing the observer for a reason.

For a moment, the viscount pouted. "It's—it's not that I'm unsure. It is because…" He shrugged a bit helplessly. "It's _new_."

She released her laugh. "Of course. Well, you know where I will be if you need anything."

Marion exchanged a look with Lumière and giggled before heading over to the next customer.

"That was mortifying," Nicolas mumbled before taking a swig of his refill. He glared across the table. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

As though it were obvious, Lumière exclaimed, "Of course! I cannot remember the last time I saw you so flustered! And over a simple fact?"

"I don't know what came over me!" Nicolas replied, at a loss. "It was just… when she said 'upcoming nuptials,' those words… _scared_ me."

He straightened, deepening his voice as he tried to salvage himself. "Which is ridiculous, because I _am_ content with the idea, you know, when _I_ talk about it."

"You would not be a man if the idea of marriage did not scare you at least a little," Lumière assured.

Slightly deflating, he confirmed, "It's… daunting."

"I can only imagine," Lumière stated as fact, smirking when Nicolas rolled his eyes.

Nicolas took another gulp of his drink, but slapped it back on the table as he remembered, pointing, "Lumière! You have something to tell me!"

Humored, Lumière eyed him. "I do?"

Getting excited, Nicolas insisted, "Oui, about a girl! I cannot believe we have not discussed her by now. You said there was one at the château."

"Angélique?" he purposely stalled, sincerely hoping he would catch the bait. The last thing he wanted to do after learning about her heartbreak was to reminisce about his time with Babette.

But Nicolas didn't fall for it. " _Non,_ a different one. The one that you seemed to have been in love with."

 _Merde_ , Lumière groaned in his mind.

Before saying anything more, he took his time sipping his ale. With a grimace, he said sternly, "I do not want to talk about her."

"Come on, _mon ami_ , how long do you expect me to wait to hear about this woman? She must be special if you have so much interest in her."

"'Had,'" Lumière corrected. "She no longer works with us."

Nicolas became concerned. "Why, what happened?"

With shrug, he made up, "She found employment elsewhere."

His friend looked sincerely disappointed. "I am sorry, _frère_." After another draught, he gently prodded, "Is that why you do not want to talk about her?"

Lumière gave a noncommittal shrug. He didn't want to think of Babette in the same way as before; it would be counterproductive. But Nicolas's curiosity was only going to grow from then on, so perhaps now was better than later. Then after tonight, he could never allow himself to think of Babette romantically again.

After a pregnant pause, Lumière said softly, "When she left, whatever was between us ended."

Nicolas' gaze was sympathetic. "Can you tell me what she was like?"

A wry grin appeared as he replied, "She was the most stubborn, irritating, and irrational girl I had ever met."

" _Ah,_ so she was a _girl!"_ Nicolas joked.

Lumière didn't react, but stated, "She was a girl in the same way that I am still a boy."

Nicolas seemed intrigued at his wording. "So you had much in common."

He raised his eyebrows as he said, "Perhaps _too_ much, but… she still struck me as unique. Around her, I was never bored."

"Really?" Lumière nodded before Nicolas said, smiling, "It sounds like you met your match."

"On more accounts than one. We fought more often than you would think."

"Well, if she had as much in common with you as you suggest, I can certainly see why."

Nicolas laughed at Lumière's deadpan glare. "You have not mentioned how she looked," he reminded.

"Perfect," Lumière said deliberately.

The viscount's eyebrows shot up. " _Perfect?"_

His heart began to ache as he explained, "No other word can do her justice."

Nicolas looked more stunned than was to Lumière's liking. "Wow," the viscount uttered. "I never thought I would hear you talk about a girl this way. You're so… _serious._ "

" _Tais-toi,_ " Lumière retorted a bit defensively.

"I am not—you misunderstand," Nicolas hurried to put to rest. "I think it's wonderful!"

But Lumière still had a scowl on his face. "Think about it," Nicolas went on. "What girl has ever left this much of an impression on you? Unless there was another one you never told me about."

Lumière snorted at that insinuation. "Even if I did, now I know to never mention her to you."

"Lumière," Nicolas said, refusing to be driven off-topic. "You're smitten!"

His bitterness over his feelings settled in him again. "Don't remind me," he muttered.

Nicolas leaned back in his seat as he thought about it. "I wish I could have met her! She must have been a very special woman."

The irony of their conversation hit Lumière most potently then, and rendered him mute. He couldn't look Nicolas in the eye as he responded only with an affirmative nod.

His friend seemed to take the hint and let the subject die. He idly drank his ale as Lumière eyed the blazing hearth nearby, his own drink's aftertaste turning stale on his tongue.

Even on a night that was supposed to be relaxing and easy-going, where he should be able to talk without restrictions, he still had to deceive. Would he be able to speak freely with Nicolas ever again? Now that he cannot allow himself to expose Babette and keep her from forever altering his dynamic with Nicolas, would that mean… that he would have to remove himself from the picture? What other way was there that didn't include either revealing the truth of their affair to Nicolas, or covering up their tracks and accruing more wretched guilt before Nicolas _did_ find out?

What other solution was there?

Before he could develop any significant answers, the slap of thick glass on wood caused Lumière to jump back to the present.

"Lumière," Nicolas boldly proposed, "let's go to Paris!"

The idea of escaping instantly appealed, but because of the two empty mugs that sat in front of the viscount, Lumière had to ask, "For what?"

"A long weekend retreat!" he elaborated with a flourish. "We need distractions and entertainment and some culture, oui? To get our minds off of the past!"

His mouth slowly turning into a smirk, Lumière mused, "Paris is definitely good for distractions."

"So you approve?"

"Wholeheartedly, _mon ami!"_ he replied, slapping the table to emphasize it. "When do we leave?"

Nicolas shrugged. "Friday morning? Let us give it a day to see if this was a bad idea."

"On the contrary, Nicolas," Lumière said with a wry smirk, "I believe all of your good ideas must come from a couple drinks if this one is any indication."

In a devil-may-care spirit, Nicolas exclaimed, "A toast to good _and_ bad ideas!"

Lumière poured a bit of ale from his stein into Nicolas'. " _À la tienne, mon frère!"_ he said before they clanked their glasses together and downed the rest of their contents, his dismal thoughts drowning with them.

* * *

Like all of the recent carriage rides to and from La Bazolle, they were lonely and too quiet.

At first, Babette had enjoyed the brief solitude these rides brought. But since Lumière had arrived, with no one to distract her, she was finding it more difficult each time to remain indifferent to her inner conflict. She didn't want this battle of mind over heart to revive itself. She had spent so long fighting to resolve it from the beginning.

But she couldn't get the way he had looked at her out of her head. His loathing had been the most obvious to notice, but had she detected repulsion? His trust in her was clearly shot, and he had admitted that he thought she was selfish. Somehow, he also now found offense in her "scandalous" past, so what reason could she salvage that proved he didn't find her repulsive? That he actually thought her worthy of Nicolas' hand?

Babette hadn't considered he would react to seeing her with Nicolas this way, but she also hadn't thought his opinion of her would have dropped so drastically since they had parted. Did he not hold for her even a speck of affection anymore?

She took deep breaths to stifle a threatening wave of tears. _Toughen up,_ she chastised herself. _It is his own fault if he refuses to accept me as Nicolas' bride._

She did love Nicolas, in a very different way than how she had loved Lumière, and she knew her feelings to be true. She could marry him when she was ready, when they were both ready. Things had been going so well too, until Lumière had come along.

If he had the gumption to dangle revealing the truth of her employment at Château du Lac to the de Créquy while she was present, she could only imagine the kind of things he must be saying to Nicolas about her when she wasn't around. He had become a threat to her and her family's happiness, prosperity, and reputation. Her very _future_ hung in the balance with _him_ as the counterweight.

It had occurred to her to talk to him alone, to explain her situation. But if he no longer cared for what became of her, as was made obvious this afternoon, then it was a lost cause. There was probably nothing she could say that would persuade him to deem her engagement to Nicolas as favorable.

 _Of course!_ she came to conclude. _If he will not listen to me, then he will certainly listen to Nicolas_.

With how he had admitted his trust in her, and seeing as how loyalty was a virtue in Nicolas' character, she had no doubt her fiancé would defend her noble intentions without question. However, she wondered if she might have to ask Nicolas to make sure he did his best in convincing Lumière of her sincerity. Despite how she would be content to have Lumière out of her life for good, that was not going to be the case if Nicolas was going to be her husband. They had to learn to get along somehow, no matter how much either of them were disinclined to. Nicolas appeared to be the only key to resolving matters between them.

With this solution in mind, Babette decided that once she asked her favor to Nicolas, her hands would be wiped clean of making amends with Lumière.

The coach came to a halt outside le Château de la Clayette. The sun sat behind the maison, so the shadows of the spiked turrets that framed the manor's front stretched all the way back down the paved drive and across the lawn to the gate that enclosed them.

After stepping out of the carriage, and with a signal of thanks to her driver, she headed inside the main entrance, her heeled slippers clacking on the cobblestone.

As much as she wished she could head straight to her room, she was obliged to let her parents know she was safe at home. She headed to the parlor behind the staircase, knocking twice politely before opening the door.

She poked her head inside. "I am stopping by to say 'bonne nuit.'"

René glanced up from his book as Clarisse spun around in her armchair. "Oh! Bonsoir _, chérie,_ how was the garden?" she inquired, letting her needlepoint rest on her lap.

Babette managed to hide her pout. Only her mother would take that as an invitation to start a conversation. "Charming," she confirmed.

"I heard that they have a visitor staying with them," René prompted casually as he removed his spectacles, though Babette could detect some intent behind his words.

Her mother chimed in, "Yes, I heard that as well. Who is it?"

 _Of all possible questions?_ Babette cried in her head, but she replied in low tone, "He is a friend of Nicolas."

"Oui, but _who?_ " Clarisse urged.

"You would not recognize him," she attempted to evade.

"Why not?" her mother questioned with some disapproval. "I imagine we know most of the same people as the de Créquy. What is his name?"

The mere thought of saying his name aloud to her parents almost caused her to gag. Instead, she dodged her inquiry again with, "He is Nicolas' former valet."

Her mother became astounded. "Really?"

Eyeing Babette knowingly, René lightly teased, "Sounds like a rather peculiar name."

She smirked reproachfully at her father, who chuckled, as Clarisse went on, not having registered René speaking. "I do not recall ever hearing of that occurring. Are they close?"

"Nicolas refers to him as though he were a brother," Babette replied concisely.

Clarisse put a hand over her heart, clearly touched. "That is most marvelous! Nicolas is such a wonderful young man. I like him more each time I hear him mentioned."

René was visibly impressed. "It certainly shows a lack of ego," he noted as he replaced his spectacles.

"Absolutely!" his wife beamed. "Now I am eager to meet this valet of his. He must be just as mature and kind-hearted, I am sure."

Babette felt her cheeks grow rosy, and hastily imparted, "Well, my bed is seeming more inviting the more I think of it."

Though she seemed to be curious of her abruptness and tone, Clarisse still replied, "All right, _chère,_ bonne nuit."

"Sleep well, _petite_ ," her father added over the brim of his book.

At promptly closing the parlor door, Babette heaved a sigh, the exhaustion of the day's deception hitting her most acutely. Her stomach churned at the thought. Craving seclusion, she climbed the staircase to her quarters with all due swiftness.

Babette hoped—she _prayed_ —that her parents would never have to encounter Lumière while he was in town, but that was laughably unlikely. Three weeks without her parents visiting La Bazolle? Based on past averages, at least two trips would be made there before Lumière returned to Château du Lac, so how could she possibly prevent reintroductions?

Still, they had only met him briefly on Christmas Eve. Her mother might not remember his face very well, but Babette, with heart cringing, was almost entirely certain that her father would.

He had always been so attentive to whom Babette had associated herself with, especially to those who were men. Once René realized Nicolas' friend and Lumière were one in the same, how soon would it take for his inevitable inquiries to come? How well could she really hide her frustration and anxiety where Lumière was concerned from her own father, the one who could read her like no other?

Her shoulders were tensing along with her gut. She quickly but efficiently went to strip the multiple layers of silk, tulle, and boning keeping her upright.

How many lies was she maintaining? Nicolas, Augustine, and Étienne knew nothing about her employment as a maid, her parents nor the de Créquy were aware of her relationship with Lumière, and she was hiding from everyone that she was not actually content with herself and her own life. If she had thought times had been difficult to deal with before she had left home, Babette concluded she must have unwittingly wandered into some personal ring of hell.

" _With the amount of secrets you keep, it is as if he hardly knows you at all."_ Could anyone? She had to pretend so often, sometimes, she hardly recognized herself. _Her._ Who had always fought to defend who she was to anyone who questioned it. Now she was shrouded in the expectations of her parents, and the lies necessary to protect her prospects and the feelings of her family, present and future. She wished desperately that she could tear them off as easily as her own clothes.

" _And apparently, he has become so enamored with you that you have convinced him to forget all of the scandals you left behind."_

"'Scandals!'" she huffed, her blood boiling. _How_ dare _he, the hypocrite! Nicolas was present for most of his own affairs, so why would any of_ mine _offend?_

Babette had told Lumière about them because she thought he understood, that his opinion of her would not change after hearing of how she had played with boys' libidos to satisfy her own. It had been such a release to admit that part of herself to someone, and here he was months later, throwing it back in her face. To think that she had anticipated his visit, had been eager to see him again. It was as if he wanted to make her rue it.

If he knew how much of a miracle it had been for her to look forward to him stopping by, would that make any difference? Would that soothe his choler? Did he even deserve to know?

Wrapped in her bed's sheets, she tried to curb her memory so she could rest peacefully, but her subconscious had other plans.


	7. Getting Acquainted

_Chapter Seven: Getting Acquainted_

 _Three Months Prior…_

 _January, 1740_

With it only being a twenty-minute carriage ride from Château de La Clayette to La Bazolle, Babette hardly felt she had time to mentally and emotionally prepare herself. Thoughts of Lumière still buzzed around her mind, with all of their conversations, his compliments, looks of adoration, the way his hand had fit into hers, the sensation of his lips…

Babette shut her eyes, the moving image of La Clayette vanishing behind her turning black. She wasn't ready. This wasn't nearly the right time. If only she could say something, make up some excuse that her parents would deem acceptable.

 _But they are oh so excited,_ she reasoned. Across from her, Clarisse was positively glowing, and René had caught on to her optimism fairly quickly and maintained a quiet eagerness himself.

There was nothing she could say or do that wouldn't reveal what had happened with Lumière, and the possibility of dampening her parents' excitement felt like too high of a cost. This was what they deserved after having endured her time spent running around alleyways and taverns with boys for all of her teen years.

Her parents had rounded up her silence to nervousness, so they thankfully weren't questioning her apprehensive demeanor, but what she showed seemed only to be a tiny fraction of how she truly felt.

 _Terror._ Terror was a perfect description.

The squeak of gates opening caught Babette's attention as the carriage sidled through the bare parterres and around the empty fountain to park at the manor's front doors.

Her stomach flipped as the coach lurched to a stop. She clutched at it, but her hand could only grip the stiff boning of her corset. Anxiety spiked through her as she was washed by a sudden wave of claustrophobia _. I cannot do this,_ she conceded to whatever deity was out there. _Let me out, let me_ faint, _I will do anything!_

Seeing her brow and mouth contorted in pain, her father reached across the coach to take her hand. "Babette, _ma petite_ , what's wrong?"

She was startled at René's touch and looked to him, her pained expression morphing into innocent surprise. "Wrong?" she repeated, mustering a small smile. "Nothing! I only… suddenly feel the nerves…" She let her voice drift off, still trying to calm her stomach through her corset.

Her mother took her other hand and patted it, her eyes bright. "You're all right, dear. We are right here with you."

René nodded in assurance and helped her rise from the carriage after his wife. Babette took a deep breath of the mid-January air, filling her lungs to their capacity. Luckily, her maid, Bernadette, had tightened it while her chest had been expanded so she could be sure to breathe a little easier.

Babette wore a modest, pinstriped navy dress of wool, unadorned by the traditional flairs and ornaments of her class. A blast of cold wind caused her to pull her cloak more tightly around her, covering her exposed collarbone as she trailed behind her parents to the doors, the only sound of snow crunching underfoot. They opened as they walked up the steps, greeted most pleasantly by a servant. Babette took one last breath of the clean, crisp air before stepping into the foyer.

* * *

Their introductions were typical and rather uneventful. During the meetings that occurred over the next couple weeks, the vicomte and Babette were under constant parental supervision. They would stay mostly silent as their parents exchanged polite pleasantries and relevant stories at dinners and in the parlor room. As Babette would try to look apt in attention at their parents' less-than-thrilling conversations, she could sense the vicomte's occasional glance in her direction.

The very moment they had seen each other, she had glimpsed a look of wonder on his features, and she pursed her scarlet lips at the memory. What sort of expectations had he devised? It didn't matter that her parents had explicitly said he gave no mind to her reputation; it still pursued her. Any man would have concocted fantasies of her from all of the stories that had spread throughout the aristocracy, whether they minded her history or not. How could this one be an exception?

 _Crème de la crème_ , her mother had said. What if it had all been an act for her parents, just for the chance to meet her? Perhaps his parents were suitable enough, and seemed as honest and benevolent people as her parents, but parents did not always account for their children. Babette herself was a prime example of that.

She took another deep breath. This was the same kind of panic that had taken her over on Christmas Eve. _This is not the end,_ she assured. If she wasn't happy with him, this wouldn't be the end. Her parents would make sure she was happy first.

Though they each rarely offered their thoughts to discussions, what the vicomte voiced would catch Babette's attention, because his views contradicted normal aristocratic opinion; they were sensible, and extremely self-aware. He began to sound less and less like the man she feared him to be.

After about a week, as lunch ended one afternoon, they all stood to head to the parlor, but as both pairs of parents left the room, Babette felt a gossamer touch on her shoulder.

"I don't wish to be impertinent," the young Vicomte de Drée, Nicolas, assured in a whisper, his brow furrowed earnestly. "But I had the hope that… perhaps we could properly introduce ourselves without our parents' supervision… Well, without their expectations intimidating our conversation." At Babette's surprise, which he took for hesitance, he added fretfully, "If the thought makes you uncomfortable, forget I said a word of it—"

"Non," Babette interrupted with a small but easing smile. "I would like that."

His frown spread into a grin before he nodded, visibly relaxing. "If you would follow me then, mademoiselle."

She did as bid and mimicked his path as he called to his parents. _"Mère, père_ , madame et monsieur, if I may, Mlle de Chantemerle and I request a slight change of pace. Perhaps I could show her more of the manor, with your permission."

Mme de Créquy smiled at her son before looking at her husband, shrugging. "I see nothing wrong with it if Monsieur and Madame de Chantemerle feel the same."

"Of course," Clarisse replied, her efforts to keep her excitement reined in only visible to Babette and René, who in turn expressed uneasiness for a fraction of a second, but remained silent. "I am sure we could spare them one night of our talk of politics."

"Then our permission is unanimous," Augustine de Créquy established, glancing keenly between the betrothed pair. "We will be in the salon if you need us."

"Merci beaucoup," Nicolas replied with a respectful bow to the counts and countesses, and Babette mutually thanked them with a curtsey.

But she managed to catch Nicolas' father, Étienne, sneak a wink to his son, and she couldn't help but blush at the possible implications. _Do not get ahead of yourself_ , she chastised. How cynical her imagination had become.

* * *

Being in the thick of winter, Nicolas and Babette remained inside La Bazolle as he showed her around its interior, giving tidbits of historical significance and short anecdotes of his family.

Babette had accepted the tour despite her instincts, fully understanding that she had to get to know him eventually. Based on a week's worth of observations, Babette could see Nicolas had a quiet personality, and with their parents in the parlor room downstairs, he was unlikely to corner her. She hated that she was thinking this way, but she couldn't help but be overly cautious with all that she had experienced. Besides, she wasn't ready. This was all too much for her right now. Why on earth couldn't her parents see that?

He could probably tell she was keeping herself reserved and withdrawn while trying to be polite, and instead of matching her countenance, Nicolas tried to provide energy for the both of them. His descriptions contained a subtle charm and humor that Babette couldn't help but pay attention to. Somehow, though, she began comparing his storytelling to Lumière's. She did her best to shake the thought away while they travelled the halls.

As she saw more of the manor, Babette marveled at the simplicity of the rooms' designs. They didn't as strictly follow the extravagance and ostentatiousness of the Rococo style she was familiar with. La Bazolle reminded her of her own home even, as her parents preferred a tasteful and more modest approach to their home furnishings.

They wandered into a gallery, the deep red walls lined with portraits of all of Nicolas' relatives, esteemed or forgotten.

Nicolas hesitated as he glanced around warily at the scads of paintings. "Well, these are almost all of my relatives, by blood or marriage, dead or alive, and so on." He looked to her with uncertainty. "We can move past this room if you like. I don't wish to bore you with all of the extraneous details of my family history. I have heard that is the very _last_ thing you want to talk about at the start of a courtship."

Babette grinned genuinely, to her own surprise. "I am sure that contains at least a shred of truth, but believe me, you have not managed to bore me yet, and I doubt you really could."

He brightened at seeing her smile before turning his gaze to his shoes. "You flatter me. I would attempt to deny it but you have not given me reason to. You are a marvelous listener, you know."

Babette shook her head, becoming embarrassed. "No, no, monsieur, please. I have not been doing you proper justice."

Nicolas stopped her with a meaningful look. "Believe me, you have. Listening to me ramble about this place is certainly no easy task, and you have inquired or commented on every room I've shown and story I've told."

"Perhaps," she shrugged, "but that does not mean I retained much of it."

"If you were required to take an evaluation on my speeches afterwards, then that might have been a problem." Babette hummed a laugh as he added, "Anyway, I can certainly tell the difference between listening and pretending to listen."

"Still, I have never been complimented for my apt attentions. So thank you."

"Non, thank _you_ ," Nicolas humbly insisted. He gestured to the door. "Shall we?"

She looked around the gallery, realizing she was not only more comfortable, but rather curious. "Well… how about this: You choose one portrait of the relative you most prefer."

He nodded, seeming impressed. "Compromising already, are we? _Très bien_." Only briefly sweeping the series of paintings, his eyes landed on one that appeared to be an obvious choice for him.

He led Babette to a portrait of a lady wearing a beaded steel blue gown with a fur-lined sash of cerulean embroidered with golden fleur-de-lis. The soft waves of her tresses were pulled back, and looked as though they could have been brown before she had powdered them. Small, curled tendrils framed her forehead above her blue eyes. As with all paintings of women at the time, the lady seemed demure and approachable, which Babette couldn't help but question. She had yet to meet an aristocratic woman whose disposition came even close to their portrait.

"Allow me to introduce you to Renée-Caroline-Victoire de Froulay de Tessé, Marquise de Créquy."

When Babette gave him a look of sympathy, Nicolas replied with subtle wholeheartedness, "I could not agree with you more."

They both released a chuckle before he resumed, "She is technically my cousin by marriage, but I hold her in such esteem that I call her 'Tata Victoire.' Her visits are rare, but when she does grace us with her presence, she would relive all of the gossip and tales of what it is like in the court of Versailles in such detail. Truly, her memory is flawless. She can recall entire conversations verbatim! Not only that, her commentary on the goings-on of court life has brought me to tears from my laughter alone. She is an absolutely fascinating woman, and I do not say that lightly. Her husband, on the other hand…" He waved his hand in a _comme ci, comme ça_ fashion. "He is not quite as charming. But she loves and respects him, so he must have some merit to his character he prefers to hide."

"How old is she?" Babette asked, noting the prime youth of Victoire in her portrait.

"Presently, she is of thirty-five years, about fifteen years older than this portrait of her."

 _I wonder how much Versailles has aged her._ Babette wished she could ask but thought it could be misconstrued as disrespectful… in normal circumstances anyway. Would Nicolas take it as rude?

"Well, she sounds like a woman I would like to meet," she safely though sincerely concluded.

"If ever she happens to grace La Bazolle with her presence, I will make sure you are the first to know outside of it," Nicolas promised.

He graciously gestured towards the gallery's exit and Babette complied.

As they moved out into the hall, a delicate silence permeated between them, both in their own reveries. Babette was still wondering on how much she was allowed to say. After three months of being comfortable enough to speak her thoughts aloud, it was leaving her feeling handicapped having to watch what escaped her mouth. What was considered inappropriate, and what was not saying enough? Her corseted dress began to feel like a prison again.

Nicolas came away from his thoughts before she did of hers, though hesitantly. "Have you been to Versailles?"

Babette erased the lines between her brow before meeting his eyes. "Not since I was very little."

Granting a small smile, he nodded. "It is probably best seen through a child's eyes. As an adult…" He could not successfully hide his grimace.

A wry grin crossed her lips. "Is it so terrible?"

"I don't wish to impress my opinions on you, but… it is definitely—"

"A pit of snakes?" she reflexively uttered while he insinuated concurrently, "A place of politics."

Babette looked to Nicolas in alarm, but his reaction was merely of surprise.

Now self-conscious, her cheeks grew warm. "I thought… I'm sorry, that was… frank."

"No, no, please, there is no need," he hurried to assure, a touch of wonder reaching his hazel eyes. He gave a conceding shrug. "You are certainly not wrong."

"You are being generous," Babette clarified, quite flustered. "I spoke out of line. I had thought you were—"

"Oh, I was about to!" Nicolas insisted. "Really! You only spoke aloud what I was too reserved to say."

"I am only repeating what I have heard," Babette calmly resolved. "I have no place in speaking harshly about Versailles at all." _Not here, and not now._ Dieu, _what an idiot!_ she berated herself. Why couldn't she keep her big mouth shut when necessary?

Babette was too turned away to notice, but the faint excitement that had filled Nicolas' character receded. "Perhaps, but… if it is any consolation, they will never hear of your criticisms from me."

His attempts to soothe were to no avail, as Babette's own self-chastisement was dominating her attention. A hopelessness had settled in her stomach, and her mortification made her want to flee this entire circumstance. Avoiding his gaze, she brusquely advised, "It's getting late. We should return to the parlor."

Helpless, Nicolas silently agreed before he led the way to retracing their steps.

* * *

On the carriage ride home, Babette was determined to stare out of the window in the hopes of avoiding any probing questions from her parents, especially her mother, though it was in vain.

"Babette?" Clarisse repeated. "Look at me _, chère_ , when I am asking you a question."

Inwardly cursing her mother's curiosity, Babette feigned mild surprise. _"Quoi?"_

Clarisse sighed. "Did you hear anything I said?"

 _Oui, but I was not answering for a reason._ "What were you asking, Maman?" she inquired with the most patience she could muster.

With a bit more emphasis, Clarisse reiterated, "How was your time with Nicolas today?"

 _Clarification that I_ cannot be a noble _._ "It was… informative."

Babette saw her father raise a skeptical eyebrow, but he said nothing. She prayed he didn't choose tonight to analyze her implications and truthfulness behind her words. She would much rather forget what happened that day than have René go through it with a fine-toothed comb.

"'Informative?'" Clarisse checked, the word having caught her off-guard.

"He gave me a tour of the manor," Babette reminded as though it were obvious, granting, "It is a very beautiful estate."

Her disappointment was plainer than Babette would have liked, though it should have been expected. "Is that all you have to say? Honestly, Babette!"

"You want me to disclose our conversations?" the young viscountess pretended to realize. "Is that not an invasion of our privacy?"

"So now you two have privacy?" René dryly inquired. "When just yesterday, you could hardly manage to look in his direction?"

A spike of indignation went through her, but Babette kept her poker face intact. She turned back to the window.

René opened his mouth to call her attention again, but Clarisse took his hand, shaking her head at him. She knew his intentions were for her to receive the response she had initially asked for, and to get the respect she deserved from her own daughter, but Clarisse also knew this was René's attempts to detract from coddling Babette, a habit he was struggling to break without there being a radical difference. Still, their girl was acting awfully ungrateful in her circumstances.

They had spent almost every day of every week searching amongst the barons, counts, and marquises in the province, traveling its lengths for miles to discuss prospects. They had to preach their lie of Babette's confinement to a convent while promoting her breeding, as much as they had wished that speaking of Babette's personality would have mattered to any of them. It was a sheer miracle that they had found one who asked about what she was like. After answering the young de Créquy's questions and agreeing to meet for dinner the day after, not to mention his family's estate's proximity to their home, Clarisse and René had known at once that Nicolas was all they could hope for.

Why couldn't Babette see it on her own?

She had definitely grown, but she wasn't herself. Babette hadn't been herself since her return from le Château du Lac. She was compliant and respectful to an extent, but she was able to use those traits to her advantage in providing equivocating answers. The passion and fire that she had always kept kindled now seemed to have cooled rather dramatically. Perhaps this was the result of her experience as a servant, of a new world view.

What bothered them the most was that they knew Babette was hiding things, particularly her feelings. Her responses were logical and within reason, as well as detached. Did she miss being at le Château du Lac? Could an attachment there become established during that short time? The Chantemerle could make no sense of it, especially when they had asked Babette these same questions, and her reply had been, "Non, my place is here."

René and Clarisse both hoped that this courtship with the quiet and sensible vicomte would lift Babette's spirits and open her up again. Maybe in time, her cold manner would be warmed by the de Créquy heir.

* * *

Dread and frustration boiled inside Babette as she watched both her and Nicolas' parents shut the doors of the parlor. Clarisse and René still smiled mischievously as they left the two of them alone, unphased or even encouraged by Babette's poisonous glare.

Just as Nicolas had shown her around La Bazolle two days before, her parents had offered Augustine and Étienne a tour of their home, le Château de La Clayette, and they couldn't have replied with more enthusiasm.

 _Damn them._ Being left alone again with the vicomte was the last thing she wanted. Babette hadn't fully recovered her ego from their most recent meeting, and frankly felt discouraged about the match altogether.

The life of a spinster was beginning to have some serious appeal.

Both young nobles sat in adjacent armchairs with half of their backs to the hearth. Babette was leaning on the chair's arm away from Nicolas with hands tied in a vice. Nicolas mirrored her, and like Babette, had found a pattern on the rug to stare a hole into. The only sounds between them were the crackling of the fire and the constant muffled tapping of Nicolas' anxious heel.

Finally, after a few glances in her direction, Nicolas cleared his throat. With the way Babette cringed, she might have heard a not-so-distant gunshot.

"Mademoiselle," Nicolas addressed firmly and clearly, pushing himself up in his chair. Babette refused to meet his gaze, but that didn't seem to matter. "Upon my honor, I would apologize profusely for having caused you any offence, especially with how abruptly our last meeting ended, but…" His voice softened. "I have done enough analysis on it to believe that is not the reason you have retreated behind your walls. But please, correct me if I'm wrong."

Babette slowly straightened in her seat, and though she turned her face towards him, she still refused to look at him. "No. You are not wrong to assume that."

When he remained silent, she closed her eyes briefly and quietly sighed. She could not be cold and sharp with him when he was speaking so gently, especially when it was true that it hadn't been his fault.

But she couldn't muster any more words, and silence overtook them. She felt his burning gaze on her profile, could almost hear his mind whirring.

"I… Your parents informed me of your stay in a convent these past few months, so I can understand that this all… may seem rushed."

Babette almost started at "convent," but had to remind herself that this was the story her parents had concocted to restore her reputation. _Yet another part to play_ , she reflected bitterly. To her chagrin, she was becoming a talented actress in her own right.

The thought of it made her stomach twist painfully.

"It is," she bluntly murmured.

Nicolas nodded almost encouragingly. "And it shouldn't. This entire… meeting—courtship is… awkward and uncomfortable as it is without feeling secure… and prepared for it."

Now Babette couldn't help but look at him. It was as though he had managed to explain some of her feelings more succinctly than she ever could have.

Could he possibly feel the same way?

Their eyes still had not met, for now he was staring at the doors.

Babette relaxed and rubbed her knuckles as she straightened in her seat. "Am I alone? In thinking that way?"

He fixed his hazel eyes on her and immediately assured, "No. Nor will you be the last."

The startling warmth she found in his response, that seemed to also penetrate her cheeks, made her avert her gaze.

A brief hesitation preluded his entreaty. "Mademoiselle, erm… M—May I call you Babette?"

Her name on his tongue sounded almost alien to her ears. Since she might as well become accustomed to it, she looked at him to consent with small nod.

The tension in his shoulders seem to ease ever so slightly. "Well… I would like to propose we… perhaps meet at another time, once you are feeling more at ease with our… getting acquainted."

His phrasing was causing a corner of her mouth to lift in a smirk. She couldn't decide if it was funny or endearing. Either way, she was in the presence of a true gentleman, and one that she hadn't expected to ever come across in all of her dabbling with his kind.

Besides, to postpone a courtship to respect her feelings of insecurity? Unable to count the times she had to pedal through her irritation and discomfort as a count's daughter, Babette could not recall such a thing ever occurring, to or outside of her.

 _And_ Dieu _, is it a tempting offer…_

But her parents… What would be their reaction? To admit she was uncomfortable would undoubtedly arise more questions, questions that she had been avoiding since her return home, and questions that she would rather not provoke.

No. Her parents didn't need to know.

"Monsieur, you are—"

"Wait, wait," he interrupted apologetically. "Please, do me the same honor. Call me Nicolas, I insist."

Babette held a brief smile, and the new name trickled from her tongue. "Nicolas… you are most considerate in your offer but… I do not feel I should accept it, because…" she added, as she saw Nicolas open his mouth to speak. "… if you even propose we give ourselves time, then… that shows that you are either very perceptive, or that you might be voicing your own feelings."

The broad, boyish grin he gave her suited him well; he appeared even handsomer than a second before. "I believe you have just claimed yourself as the perceptive one of us."

His smile made the corners of his eyes crinkle, making it all the more contagious.

"Personally," Nicolas resumed softly, "I am not opposed to taking our time, that is if you aren't either?"

"Non, not at all!" Babette hastily replied, relief untwisting the knot inside her. "I welcome that, in fact. But…"

When she pursed her lips, he prompted, "Yes?"

"Could we… keep this arrangement between us?"

Noting her grimace, he bared a lopsided smile. "If your parents are anything like mine, they are more than eager to have the cause of church bells be for your wedding, no?"

Babette stifled her exasperation. "So we have that in common?"

"To the misfortune of us both."

They both chuckled, and at a mutual glance between them, it seemed the ice had cracked.

"Well, I have been well-taught in the art of subtlety," he informed with the slightest mischief, "so if this happens to leave this room, then it will be the walls' fault."

"Or because of a nosy staff," she added under her breath.

He eyed her with a wry grin. "Nosy staff? Should I be worried?"

As though on cue, they heard two knocks on the door before her majordomo strode in carrying a tray of tea and pastry. He glanced up at them as he set it on the low table before them, pardoning rather innocently, "I do not mean to intrude, but this is of the master and mistress' request."

Babette cocked a skeptical eyebrow. "Merci, Henri."

After Henri bowed out of the parlor, matching her pout with a smirk, Nicolas observed with fascination, "What was that look I saw exchanged?"

She waved it off. "Nothing. He only likes to tease me."

 _If he says a word to my parents…_ But she paused in imagining revenge on her old friend and rival to prepare the tea.

Nicolas reached out and grazed the top of hers while insisting, "Please, allow me."

She retracted her hand like she had touched a hot flame, but tried to cover up her surprise by placing both hands on her lap. "Thank you," she curtly replied.

It didn't appear her shock at his touch went unnoticed, but resumed anyway as he poured only one cup, "It seems we have something else in common."

Furrowing her brow, she inquired, "What?"

"There are some members of my staff that enjoy teasing me as well. Sugar?" he offered.

"Oui, two spoonfuls." As he handed over her cup, she had to comment, "If… you do not mind me saying so… you seem like the very last person that could be teased."

Nicolas laughed. "I had thought so for a while, too. But my old valet found a way, and he found one rather easily. In fact, he found many... too many to mention." He offered a shrug. "It has kept me humble, if all else."

"I believe Henri has had the same intentions for me," she noted. "I cannot deny its efficiency."

He relaxed a bit more in his armchair. "I can only speak from personal experience, but he would not tease you if he didn't care about you. I imagine your parents tend to do the same?"

"Yes," she confirmed with a smirk. "And yours?"

"They do," he grumbled, and Babette hummed a giggle. "They can be quite incorrigible when given the right incentive."

"We seem to have survived the fray without many casualties," Babette astutely observed.

"We are not out of the woods yet, Babette," he reminded forebodingly, but his expression said otherwise and made her smile.

" _C'est très vrai,"_ she admitted.

As she took a sip of her tea, she then noticed the tension had melted from her neck, along with her cold shoulder. She couldn't deny Nicolas' approachability, and it felt like one she could begin to trust, one without danger of getting hurt.

Perhaps he could be the friend she so desperately needed.

* * *

 _I saw the live-action film, and I can promise you as a diehard fan, it will not disappoint. It was a beautiful and magical surprise, and a marvelous take on our favorite Disney fairytale. If I don't post again soon, I'm probably binging the soundtrack while catching up on homework._

 _Enjoy the movie and the rest of your spring breaks!_


	8. Preparations

_Chapter Eight: Preparations_

After sending a footman to ready their Parisian estate, Nicolas prepared to spend much of the day at the Chantemerle's manor. Thankfully, neither him nor Lumière had drunk an amount of ale that couldn't be easily slept off, so around noon, a rejuvenated Nicolas was smartly dressed to meet Babette at her home.

"Are you sure you don't wish to join me?" Nicolas checked one last time as he put on his coat in the foyer. "You would not be imposing in the slightest."

"Bless your innocent mind," Lumière admired with humor, "but I am certain Mlle de Chantemerle would respectfully disagree. Both of you have deserved some time to yourselves."

Nicolas conceded with a shrug before asking, "What are you going to do then?"

"I am on holiday, Nicolas," he reminded with a roll of his eyes. "I'm going to relax as I am meant to. Perhaps I will read a book for once."

Nicolas laughed. "The idea of you being idle _and_ content is one that will always be foreign to me. But enjoy your day of rest. We will be leaving for Paris in the morning."

"I should be reminding _you_ of that! I want to leave bright and early," the maître d' demanded, appearing quite resolute.

Calling on an impression of his father, Nicolas said with elevated sarcasm, "I promise to not stay out too late, _bobonne_." He dropped the act when Lumière chuckled. "I will see you tonight."

" _Amuse-toi,_ " Lumière imparted with an insinuating smirk.

Shaking his head, but grinning, the viscount returned, "You as well _, mon ami._ "

After Nicolas closed the door, Lumière was at a loss for what to do with his free time. Did he really want to spend it reading?

 _Angélique would not even hesitate,_ he thought with a smile. But then the offer she had made before he had left occurred to him.

As the idea took seed, the more it appealed. Turning on his heel, he headed up the staircase.

Though he had never spent much time in their modest library, Lumière had made it his preferred place to gather his thoughts, especially in regards to wording a letter. What made the room even more ideal was, being at the southeast corner of the château, one window pointed toward the lush and rolling countryside, while the other faced the gardens and small forest behind La Bazolle.

The sun brightened the greens of the outside to a vividness that was both soothing and invigorating to see. He opened a window to allow the breeze of the day to waft through. As soon as he did, the pleasant chirping of birds could be heard in the bushes and trees below.

At the bibliothéque, he unhooked the drop-leaf desk, revealing some drawers behind it. From these drawers, he grabbed a sheet of parchment, an inkwell, and quill before pulling out the stool tucked between the desk's cabinets.

As he took a seat, his mind was as blank as the parchment in front of him. How was he to explain everything that had happened? Where did he begin?

He knew at least _how_ to begin.

 _Ma chère ange,_ he addressed with a wry smile.

As his mind pieced words and sentences together, he gazed out past the manicured lawns and pastures to the cluster of rooftops in the distance.

La Clayette was very dignified and developed for a town as small as it was. It had the sophistication of a city with the comfort of country living, practically the best of both worlds. In hindsight, it was astoundingly lucky that he had grown up in such a quaint area. He had never been able to appreciate it before because in his adolescent eyes, it paled in comparison to large, bustling cities like Paris. With so many interesting places to go and exciting events to attend, how could they not have made La Clayette seem boring and provincial?

Despite how dull the town had seemed though, Lumière had been able to entertain himself with the women he came across. He recalled Babette had done the same with men, and for most of the same reasons.

By the time Babette had taken to the streets with amorous vigor, Lumière had been employed at le Château du Lac, narrowly missing the possibility of them meeting. Would things have been different had they met here in town? Would they have let feelings develop and deepen as much as they had if her social status had been known from the start?

Dieu _, look at me, wondering "what ifs,"_ Lumière chastised himself with a grunt. He turned to his parchment again, spinning the quill with the pads of his fingers.

As he refocused, what he intended to say returned to him. He put his quill to ink, then to paper as the words flowed from him into smooth script with few pauses.

Feeling content with his handiwork, he reread it to be sure.

 _Ma chère ange,_

 _I understand that this letter may seem premature, but I am afraid I have stumbled upon a much unforeseen circumstance._

 _I neglected to inform you of the reason Nicolas asked for me, so allow me to explain. Nicolas has become engaged to a charming and vivacious young woman, and he was keen on introducing her to me so that I might give them my blessing. What a coincidence that she happens to be a mutual acquaintance of ours. Can you guess? I can wager that whomever you have in mind is not going to be anywhere near correct._

 _D'accord, I will give you a hint. Despite her noble background, she made quite a delightful addition to our staff last season._

 _Would you like to know the best part?_ _Nicolas __knows __nothing_ _. She has purposely kept my dear friend ignorant on any relations she has had at the château and most especially, with me._

 _This has led to some very complicated maneuvers on both our parts, if you can imagine. I have had to play along in pretending as though we have never met. I still cannot believe she refused to warn me, for she knew that I was visiting._

 _Because I want to spare myself the energy of writing the course of my thoughts over the past few days, and you the task of reading them, I will attempt to abridge them as concisely as I possibly can._

 _Shock. Bewilderment. Spite. Anger. Conviction. Remorse. Empathy._

 _If you are not astonished by my brevity, I certainly am for the both of us._

 _To the misfortune of us both, I cannot put our dear Babette's feelings in such clear terms. She has absolutely insisted on being anything but compliant with me. I have only just realized because of Nicolas' recent disclosure that she was indeed as heartbroken as I was from our parting. I can hear you calling me the fool, but you can trust that has already occurred to me. It seems she has fostered her suffering into hatred, and my actions have only justified her feelings._

 _I must do something to fix what I have had a hand in breaking. Though no words exist to properly articulate the pain I feel at watching the woman I love be courted by the man I call my brother, I understand now that I must be the one among us three to remain strong. I must overlook whatever woe in me ensues during the rest of my stay to ensure there is peace. I must have Babette know that I now have every intention of supporting her union to Nicolas for their sake of a prosperous future._

 _But first, she must prove to me that her love for Nicolas is true. I will not allow her to let anyone else occupy her heart, including me. Especially me. Nicolas deserves a woman who loves him with all of her body, heart, and mind. Any less will not suffice._

 _For now, I will be doing my best to guarantee these happen. Any suggestions you may have would be most welcome. Perhaps where Babette is concerned, you can provide an approach that I might not ever have considered otherwise. Better yet, if you have read a novel with a plot as tragically romantic as this one and where the ending is happy, send it to me immediately so I may use it as a reference to help me navigate my own narrative. Then I will need you to keep me in your prayers as often as I cross your mind._

 _On this pleasant note, I shall conclude my plea for help._

 _May no worries as cumbersome as these ever befall you, or anyone else for that matter._

 _Yours always,_

 _L._

He couldn't help but be surprised at how he fit what felt like an overwhelming amount of information onto only the front and back of a sheet. He set it down again to fold and seal, but stopped himself.

As eager as he was to get a second opinion on his situation, one of this magnitude would be a cause for worry on Angélique's end. While his wording was far from desperate, the news of him having to deal with the aftermath of both his and Babette's affair with Nicolas as collateral could prompt more than her keen advice. At this moment, she was most likely at ease, believing he was basking in the good company of his friend without Babette at the forefront of his thoughts.

Lumière rubbed his eyes as he sighed. He had caused her enough worry for the dismal mood he had kept since Christmas. Besides, he was hardly giving himself a chance to think of something to reestablish Babette's good opinion before asking for help.

Glancing through his words again, the delicacy of this information was great enough for this letter to be swiftly set to flame if it was not going to be sent, but he couldn't convince himself that doing so was best either.

 _I will seal it as though I mean to send it,_ he decided. _If I find no inspiration while in Paris, this will be sent upon our return._

Until then, he would keep the letter hidden in his room. It would be safer from Nicolas at La Bazolle than in his luggage while they were in Paris.

* * *

When the sun began to set on the horizon, Lumière stepped out of the music room to see if either Nicolas or his parents had returned from their respective visits. When he came across Renaud in the hall, the majordomo directed him to _le petit salon_ where Étienne was having his nightcap and Augustine, a cup of tea.

"Bonsoir, madame et monsieur," Lumière cheerfully greeted as he walked into the salon.

Augustine hopped in her seat, almost spilling her tea. "Oh! Bonsoir, _cher_." She set her teacup down to examine her lap for any wayward drops. "You certainly caught me by surprise! I thought you would be with Nicolas."

"As did Nicolas," Lumière said with a smirk, taking a seat on the chaise in front of them. "But I had to remind him that a proper courtship does not include a third."

"The keyword being 'proper,'" Étienne annexed dryly, though his eyes remained on his gazette.

She gave Lumière a teasing smile over the lip of her teacup. "Ah, yes, I should have expected you to be more aware of _romantic_ etiquette," Augustine emphasized with a rolling ' _r_.' "You think Nicolas would have learned as much by now."

"It seems he is doing well enough on his own," Lumière admitted sincerely.

"True, true," she replied with a small sigh. "But now that _you're_ here… well, I am sure you could help spur things along."

A feeling of dread creeped into his gut. He arched an inquiring eyebrow. "How do you mean?"

"Augustine," her husband said with a stern look. "Mind what you're asking."

"Honestly, Étienne, what harm could it do?" she defended, straightening in her seat as she spoke to Lumière. "I only bring it up because…"

She pursed her lips, thinking of the right words to say. "I don't know what Nicolas has told you, but their courtship has been carrying on for almost four months, and he still… has not _initiated_ anything."

Étienne squeezed his eyes shut and practically pleaded, "My dear, that is hardly Lumière's concern."

"My _point_ is," she continued after stealing a glare at her husband, "he needs someone to encourage him in taking a few chances, and he always seems to be more willing to when you are with him."

Lumière hoped he didn't look as uncomfortable as he felt. "I suppose that is true…"

Based on the way Étienne tiredly shook his head, though the count adamantly kept his attention on what he was reading, Lumière's discomfort must have been audible at least.

Augustine didn't seem to notice either way. She eagerly asked, "So you will lend him a helping hand?" But then doubt crossed her features. "It isn't too much to ask, is it?"

Lumière managed a small smile. "Your concern for him is… understandable, madame." But the cringing in his stomach gave him pause.

This request went completely against his plan to interfere as little as possible. In refusing to meddle from then on in their courtship, he had wanted to prove to Babette that he no longer intended to prevent the joining of their houses. He now had the same wishes as Nicolas' parents, but how could he promise what Augustine was asking? To _advise_ Nicolas on how to incite romance with Babette?

 _Whether to interfere or not, I will trust my judgement alone,_ he promised himself. Though Augustine meant well, he would know what was best for Nicolas _and_ Babette.

With some regret, he half-lied, "I will do my best."

The countess visibly relaxed. "Merci, Lumière." Reclining slightly in her armchair, she thankfully changed the subject. "So! How was your day at home then?"

He mirrored her grin, though it was half-hearted. He took a deep breath to ease the knot inside of him. "Quite unproductive," he confessed.

She gave him a firm nod. "As it should be! You _are_ on holiday, after all. How did you bide your time?"

Lumière shrugged. "I… tried to reclaim some of my fingering on a Couperin suite."

"That _was_ you on the harpsichord!" she exclaimed, rolling her eyes at herself. "I don't know why that hadn't occurred to me."

He smirked. "I could name a reason or two."

She waved a hand to silence him. "Non, non, _cher_ , you sounded lovely. It simply has not been played in so long that I hardly recognized it."

"That was precisely my assumption. I spent the better part of an hour or so tuning it myself."

Her mouth opened in an "aw," her fingers at her heart. "Honestly, _mon cher_ , how have we gotten along without you?"

Lumière laughed, but Augustine insisted, "No, really! You were such a help around here, always going above and beyond the call of duty."

"During the day, at least," Étienne recalled, sending a sly glance in Lumière's direction.

The maître d' conceded to that with a shrug, mirroring the count's wry grin. "I always do my best to please."

Pouring herself a little more tea, she said, "Château du Lac is certainly lucky to have you."

"Even if that majordomo of theirs believes otherwise," Étienne added reflexively. He then furrowed his brow at him. "Don't let all of this praise go to your head."

Lumière dutifully saluted, but he couldn't keep a straight face. "Oui, _mon capitaine!_ "

Augustine glanced at the clock as she sipped her tea. "It's getting quite late. How long did Nicolas plan on staying?"

As though on cue, the viscount came through the open salon door, rubbing his eyes and forehead. Baffled, they all watched him drag his feet and lower himself into a slouch next to Lumière, leaning his head on the back of the chaise. His eyes were firmly shut as though he could fall asleep.

" _Ma foi_ , Nicolas, who caused this?" Lumière had to ask. "Her or you?"

"Both," he grunted without opening his eyes. "Her wine…" He pointed in the general direction of La Clayette, and then thumbed himself. "… and my insistence to drink it."

His friend burst out laughing, shaking his head. "Oh _mon ami_ , I _know_ I have taught you better!"

Nicolas sighed. "That is exactly what I expected you to say."

Augustine looked on with tired disapproval. "Please tell me you did not act this way at the Chantemerle's."

"No, I didn't, _mère_ ," her son monotoned. He still hadn't opened his eyes. Lumière covered his mouth to stifle another laugh.

The countess pursed her lips, dissatisfied, as Étienne advised, "I think you ought to begin sleeping that wine off."

"Gladly," Nicolas muttered, taking the pillow by his elbow and putting it underneath his head.

"In your _own bed_ ," his mother corrected sternly. Lumière gave up on trying to hide his laughter, but thankfully, Augustine was too annoyed to care. "Honestly! Sleeping on the chaise…"

Nicolas groaned rather loudly. " _Fine._ " He tried rubbing his eyes and blinking to get the sleep out of them, but he complained, "I don't think I can keep my eyes open."

"Then _I_ will be your eyes," Lumière bravely volunteered in a very serious tone.

Nicolas didn't react, but understandably so. His poor friend was probably too tired to recognize humor.

But when the maître d' rose from the chaise, Nicolas offered up his hand for his friend to help him stand.

Lumière hooked Nicolas' arm around his own neck, patting the viscount's back. "Just like old times, non?"

Nicolas only snorted in reply, yet he couldn't deny there was some truth to that.

Lumière glanced at the de Créquy, using Nicolas' hand to give them a parting wave. "Bonne nuit!"

Étienne seemed much more amused than Augustine. "Good night," they replied.

Out in the hallway, Nicolas said, "I should probably warn you not to be alarmed if I start to sleepwalk."

"Be sure to hold off until we have climbed the stairs," Lumière recommended with a smile.

Before they crossed the foyer, he grabbed a lit candelabrum from a table by the doors. "I must say, I feel obligated to take the blame for this, _mon ami_. If I visited more often, you would be much more capable of handling your share of wine."

"I can handle my wine well enough, thank you," Nicolas replied rather soberly. He carefully watched his footing on the steps as he added, "The kind she had though was… quite good."

"Are you sure there was not a little something extra mixed in? Did it happen to have a strange taste?"

He could _feel_ the viscount roll his eyes. "As if she would drug me. You're ridiculous."

Lumière laughed as they reached the top of the stairs. "If I were in your position, I would sooner want to blame drugs than my poor tolerance. I think it only courtesy to give you the chance."

Nicolas glanced at him with skeptical surprise. "And you would have believed me?"

"Non. I just like hearing you try to lie." He chuckled. "I can never keep a straight face when you do."

"Hence why I didn't bother," Nicolas muttered, opening the door to his chambers for them. He leaned in the doorway as Lumière went to start a fire in his hearth.

"You know," Nicolas began after a thoughtful pause. "It's too exhausting to lie! I can't imagine why people do it in the first place."

The tug of guilt yanked on his gut, and Lumière was glad he could keep himself busy while having his back to Nicolas as he replied sincerely, "Similar thoughts have often crossed my mind."

"Perhaps it can be just as difficult to speak the truth," Nicolas reasoned as he wandered over to his wardrobe to change, "but when you are faced with the choice, why bother to deceive?"

Trying to sound like the usual voice of reason, Lumière replied, "I imagine it can become more complicated than that."

"How so?" the viscount argued as he stripped himself of his jacket and waistcoat. "Wouldn't fabricating more lies make the situation more complicated? Not little white lies we say to keep from offending strangers, of course, but those lies with _weight_ , that evade and distort the truth enough to affect the people around them." He slipped on a cotton tunic as he noted to Lumière, " _Those_ have consequences, no matter what."

Lumière needed to steer him off this topic. He set the candelabrum on the mantel before eyeing Nicolas. "I cannot help but wonder if this is the wine talking."

"And what if it is?" he asked, noticeably trying to stand straighter. "Am I not coherent?"

"Non. In fact, you are _too_ coherent," Lumière granted matter-of-factly. "But you are starting to ramble."

Nicolas groaned, seeming to agree, but by the look he gave Lumière, he didn't like that he did. He trust-fell onto his bed as he yawned, and he stayed there with his legs hanging off its side, admitting, "I suppose I do need to sleep it off."

Lumière tilted his head as he observed him. "While precisely in that position?"

Nicolas gave him a deadpan stare as he only moved his arm to grab a pillow and place it under his head as though to spite him. "If I want to, yes."

He saw Nicolas close his eyes and arched an eyebrow. "Do I really need to tuck you in?"

"Oh, out with you already!"

Lumière threw his hands up in surrender. " _D'accord_ , fine! I had to ask." Slightly under his breath, he added, "This used to be my job, after all."

" _Good night,_ " Nicolas said with the utmost finality.

"Bonne nuit to you, too!" his old valet replied with enough cheerfulness to irk Nicolas one last time. He turned back around as he gripped the doorknob. "And remember to be up bright and early!"

"Mm-hmm," Nicolas grumbled, already drifting off to sleep.

As Lumière shut his door, he began to wonder if Nicolas would oversleep instead. If so, there were plenty of delightful ways to give his old friend a wake-up call.

He smirked with mischief at the idea as he returned to his room down the hall.

* * *

A little after seven the next morning, Lumière left his chambers, fully dressed and with a pep in his step. His excitement to travel to the city that was considered the center of the world was tangible.

He headed down to the kitchen and waltzed through the familiar doors. Since breakfast was served promptly at nine, as Augustine and Étienne liked, their new maître d', Thibault, and the chef would not be down for another hour. He had the kitchen all to himself.

After boiling a hot chocolate wine with Nicolas' favorite port, he brought two glasses of it out with crusts of bread and butter into the dining room, but he found it empty.

All trips to Paris from La Bazolle had begun with a _petit déjeuner_ a half hour before their departure at eight for at least the past decade. Nicolas would most definitely know that.

Lumière sighed as he set down their breakfast. He tried to feel regret at having to wake Nicolas himself, but found it impossible. He couldn't keep himself from smiling.

Once upstairs, he carefully opened the viscount's door, slipped inside, and closed it behind him. The light of dawn peeked through the sheer curtains along the far wall, dimly illuminating the scene.

As assumed, Nicolas remained thoroughly comatose, his head now at the foot of the bed with his limbs spread-eagle. Based on the pillows on the floor, he must have kicked them off in his sleep.

Lumière had to stifle a snort. _He could not have made this any easier if he had done it on purpose._

With delicate steps, he crept to the fireplace, where the dying embers faintly glowed, and picked up the bed warmer and stoker. Taking one in each hand, he neared the foot of the bed. Noting that Nicolas faced the left, Lumière held out the bed warmer slightly above and behind him for an intended maximum effect. He began to measure the stoker's swing like a hammer to a nail. With his body in a fortified stance, he breathed deeply, and then clanged the stoker against the bed warmer over and over again.

The reverberant metallic drumming made Nicolas startle awake, and in his shock, as predicted, he rolled off the bed and thumped to the floor in an attempt to escape the loud banging. He jumped to his feet, his legs and arms trying to attain some balance, but he only fell back onto his rear into his window's curtains.

Though Lumière had tried to maintain the clanging until Nicolas noticed him, his urge to laugh overcame his determination. He doubled over at the sight of his friend so disoriented.

He straightened, calming down enough to say jovially, " _Bon matin, mon ami!_ "

Nicolas had only been able to blankly stare as he got his bearings, but he immediately looked to his old valet at his greeting, his eyes quite alert for having only been awake a minute. They narrowed. " _Lumière…_ " he growled menacingly.

"Ah-ah-ah," Lumière lightly chastised, making the stoker in his hand wag like a disapproving finger. "You were warned not once, but twice yesterday to be awake by now. Whether you like it or not, I maintain the right to wake you by any means necessary _._ Besides," he added with a smirk, "you know you would have attempted to do the same if I were in your position."

With sobriety, Nicolas got to his feet, seeming as though he would like nothing more than to tackle the maître d'. Lumière responded in kind by fixing his stoker like a saber at the ready, daring with an arched eyebrow for Nicolas to try, but he still smirked all the same.

The viscount scrunched up his mouth and puffed up his chest, but it deflated as he sighed. He pointed a threatening finger. "My revenge will come."

Lumière chuckled as he retracted his stoker in proper fencing style, clacking his heels together as he stood tall. "I am already rife with anticipation."

* * *

After Nicolas was dressed, he met Lumière as he was finishing off his bread. Though he wanted to remain bitter about his rude awakening, he admittedly warmed up a little at the sight of chocolate wine, as Lumière had also foreseen.

They were putting on their coats in the foyer when Nicolas' parents came down the stairs.

"Bon voyage _, mes enfants_!" Augustine imparted warmly, giving both a hug and kiss on their cheeks. "Remember to send a letter when you reach Briare _and_ Paris, just so I know you're safe."

"Of course, Maman," Nicolas assured, though he would have done so without a reminder.

"Would there be any requests?" Lumière asked knowingly.

Augustine's eyes lit up. "Oh, yes, I almost forgot! You know the perfume I like to buy from that usual shop on the Pont-au-Change?"

Nicolas inclined his head. "We'll be sure to return with a bottle of it for you."

"Merci, _mes chers_."

"Adieu, boys," Étienne acknowledged with a wry smile. "If we hear word of a couple miscreants wreaking havoc wherever they tread, then we will know you're alive and well."

"Charming," Augustine muttered with a subtle eyeroll, but this only made her husband's smile grow.

"We would only be following your example, monsieur," Lumière expertly quipped.

Étienne chuckled as he stuck out his hand for the maître d' to firmly shake. "Know to watch what you say when you're there. Paris is not as forgiving as I am."

Lumière nodded with a grin. "Without question."

He did the same to his son, and patted Nicolas on the shoulder. "Keep an eye on that one," he advised in a low tone, referring to Lumière.

Nicolas smiled. "As per usual."

"So you say," Lumière said to Nicolas, crossing his arms. "But we both know I have been the more responsible one between us when in Paris."

Nicolas eyed him, recognizing exactly what he was insinuating, but facetiously replied, "Ah, oui, I do recall that _one_ time."

When his friend scowled, he laughed and gave him a stiff slap on the back before turning toward the door. He waved to his parents. "Adieu!"

Lumière gracefully bowed to the count and countess as he murmured, "I will take good care of him."

Augustine smiled at him, touching his shoulder. "Thank you, _cher_."

He nodded to her, mirroring her smile, and saluted Étienne before following after Nicolas.

Having already saddled their horses with their luggage, Romain waited just outside gripping their reins. Nicolas had climbed atop his roan steed and was gazing at the cloudless skies as Lumière thanked Romain and mounted his mare.

He brought his horse astride Nicolas'. "Ready?"

Nicolas nodded, grinning with excitement. "Let's be off!"

He kicked his stallion's sides, cantered off through the open gate, and turned north at the main road with Lumière close behind.


	9. Hills and Valleys

_Chapter Nine: Hills and Valleys_

The road they took closely followed the Loire river, its trickling melodies accompanying the light rustling of trees' leaves and delicate birdsongs. The morning chill could be bracing at times, but otherwise, it was the start of a beautiful day.

Whenever their surroundings became worthy of appreciation, Lumière and Nicolas would mutually let their conversations drift off. Normally, a prolonged silence between others would prompt Lumière to keep talking, but he never felt the need with Nicolas. Their silences, especially when riding, felt comfortable and natural.

As the sun rose above the treetops, they watered their horses at a stream that drifted off the main river. While sifting through his saddlebag for the usual bread and cheese, Lumière rediscovered his leftover macaroons and tossed one to Nicolas.

His eyes widened. "Are these from Mrs. Potts?"

"Perhaps," Lumière teased, smirking at Nicolas' sudden elation.

He took a bite of the cookie and a look of ecstasy crossed his face. "Oh… _magnifique._ "

Out of the goodness of his heart—and after Nicolas kept asking for another one—Lumière handed over the rest of the bag. The vicomte was nibbling on them to properly savor their sweetness as they passed through Nevers.

The Loire river strayed temporarily to the west as they continued on the road, but its familiar song returned within a few miles. From their right, the tang of grapes would waft on the wind during stretches of the occasional vineyard that would occur in between a field of wheat, wildflowers, or rolling hills.

Since Nicolas had neglected to mention what had happened outside of his courtship with Babette, he recounted the highlights of the week his family had spent in Versailles the previous November to Lumière, who went between shock and mirth at the stories of various aristocrats and their escapades. Though Nicolas wasn't one for gossip, he was not above regaling what he had witnessed to those close to him, especially when he thought it ridiculous or entertaining.

This made time pass all the more quickly. When they finally reached Briare, the sun was rapidly setting. Even after a filling meal at one of the town's taverns, they enjoyed a few pints before bed, their laughter blending right into the rest of the tenants' chatter.

They were up just as early the next morning, this time with Nicolas being the first awake. While Lumière dressed and readied the horses, Nicolas walked the letter he had promised his mother to the post down the street. By the time he returned, they were on the road again, their water skins full and their bread and cheese restocked.

The sky had some sparse clouds, but it was still as pleasantly temperate as the day before. Unfortunately, the Loire river had taken its currents and its song westward. The rhythmic clops of their horses' hooves on the trail attempted to fill what the river had left vacant.

When the sun had reached its peak, they approached a small village that sat on the Loing river. They stretched their legs only briefly before continuing into the forest beyond, both anxious to reach a warm fire and feather beds.

* * *

From the calm of the countryside to the cacophony of the city, it certainly was telling that one did not have to be able to see to know that they were in Paris. Chirping birds turned into shouts from the open windows of apartments above, and the rustling of leaves turned into the creaks of wooden wheels on wagons that carried their owners' wares. Amidst the boisterous conversations of a hundred voices, glass would shatter here, a soprano's lyric timbre would sail above them there, and a baby's cry would pierce through it all anywhere.

As they followed the Seine north, horses and pedestrians walked passed them, many on their way home from their jobs. The gentlemen curved through the cobblestone streets toward the center of the man-made metropolis, where the upper classes resided.

Off rue Saint-Antoine, they turned into a long archway that opened into a courtyard at the center of the de Créquy's Parisian property, Hôtel de Beauvais.

Both men eagerly dismounted their horses as their footman ran up to them from behind.

"Bonsoir, messieurs!" he called cheerfully.

Lumière turned to grin at the always upbeat footman. "Ah, Marc! I am glad to see you made it here in one piece—and on such short notice."

"Oui, Marc," Nicolas sincerely agreed, "I very much appreciate your speed, and for agreeing to race out here so quickly."

"Oh, I was happy to!" Marc professed, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "There's not a more pleasant surprise than being told you must go to Paris. A lovely time of year for it, too!"

"Indeed," Nicolas said with a fond smile. He glanced around at the ivory stone walls and arched windows. "Was she in bad shape?"

Marc fervently shook his head. "Oh no, nothing a little dusting couldn't do. After I arrived, I was able to contact the team of maids that normally keep this place sparkling. Do you remember Pauline?" he addressed more to Lumière than Nicolas.

The maître d' furrowed his brow as he guessed, "Red hair and charming freckles?"

Marc grinned. "Just the same. She has agreed to work during your stay to make the beds and such. I also thought she might be of help to Mlle de Chantemerle if need be, though I am sure mademoiselle must be bringing her own maid."

Lumière felt his insides freeze. He was still trying to process if he had heard correctly while Nicolas replied, "I believe so, too, but Pauline's services would be most welcome. Could you be sure to pay her the wages deserved at the end of the week?"

The footman nodded. "Naturally! I will make a note of it, monsieur." He gestured to their horses. "Would you like me to stable them for you?"

"That would be wonderful, Marc, thank you," Nicolas said while taking note of how pale Lumière suddenly seemed.

"And do not worry about your bags!" Marc insisted as he went to take the reins. At his five-foot-six stature, the horses appeared a great deal bigger in comparison. "I can take them up to your rooms. Go inside and rest!"

Nicolas inclined his head to him, watching the footman take the horses to the stable just off the courtyard only briefly before stepping near Lumière to murmur with concern, "Are you all right?"

Lumière started, his mind having been reeling at a panic-stricken rate. At Nicolas' expression, he cursed himself for allowing his internal distress to show.

He attempted to smooth it over with a cavalier grin. "Of course! Just a bit of fatigue." He patted encouragingly on his friend's shoulder and strode to the entrance as he prompted, "Come, let's do as the man said."

Nicolas blinked, a bit taken aback at his recovery, but followed suit.

In the salon outside the dining room, a fire in the hearth was already ablaze. Lumière busily took off his coat and collapsed on the chaise, all the while trying to figure how to casually ask about what he had heard, despite how desperately his question was poised on his tongue.

Nicolas had joined him in the salon, setting his own coat over an armchair before sitting in it.

Lumière cleared his throat. His heart was beating unusually fast. "Nicolas?"

He glanced up from removing his gloves. "Yes?"

The maître d' crossed his arms. "Did I… hear Marc correctly? That Mlle de Chantemerle will be joining us?"

"Oui…" Nicolas arched an eyebrow, giving Lumière the once-over. "Why? You look unsettled."

Lumière huffed a laugh. "Well, this _is_ the first I've heard of it."

It was Nicolas' turn to be confused. "Didn't I tell you?"

A flint of anger sparked in his chest, but Lumière said coolly, "I certainly would have recalled such a significant detail."

"Oh." Nicolas ran a hand through his hair, mumbling, "It must have… slipped my mind."

Lumière sighed, making sure to keep himself calm. "Given the state you were in the other night, that is not a surprise. But how, may I ask, did you extend her an invitation?"

Nicolas shrugged, not quite meeting Lumière's eye. "I happened to mention our trip after a couple glasses, and she seemed quite interested. She said it had been ages since she had visited Paris, so I offered her to join us." With some caution, he finally watched Lumière, looking contrite. "Are you disappointed?"

"Non," Lumière assured, not wanting to worry his friend. "It is only a little… unexpected."

The vicomte sighed, realizing his mistake. "You wanted it to be just the two of us."

Lumière adamantly shook his head. "That would be selfish of me to want to keep you from your fiancée. Besides, this is _your_ family's hôtel. You are entitled to invite whomever you wish. Who am I to deny that?"

When Nicolas still seemed unsure, Lumière went on to say, "If she is bringing a maid of her own, then at least our numbers are even."

His friend laughed. "That is true." Encouraged by this, he added with a sly grin, "Who knows? You may even take a liking to her."

Despite his doubts, Lumière gave him a one-sided smirk. "We shall see."

With his thoughts still anxiously whirring, the maître d' glanced at the mantel clock before he stood. "Well, if mademoiselle is to arrive at any moment, I will make sure there is a meal prepared."

Leaning on the armrest closest to Lumière, Nicolas stopped him. "I know you have always insisted on playing the cook whenever we come out here, but if you like, I am sure we can find one to hire for the week."

"That is kind of you," Lumière replied sincerely, "but, though it may be hard to believe, I rather enjoy playing the cook on these visits. In fact, I do not find much opportunity to otherwise, even at the château."

Nicolas contemplated that as he skeptically said, "The head of the kitchen does not have the opportunity to cook…"

"Trust me, I have long since recognized the irony," Lumière acknowledged as he exited the salon. "You could say I live with it."

He heard Nicolas chuckle before he took the hallway to the kitchen in determined strides. Taking a deep breath, he tried to soothe his trepidation.

So, his assumed time away to ascertain how to establish a truce with Babette was completely obliterated. For at least once in his life, he had wanted to truly take the opportunity to consider a plan _rather_ than have to think on his feet. With how delicate and vital their situation was, he did not want to resort to the risk of improvisation, no matter how skilled he was at it.

Though he wouldn't have minded cooking anyway, Lumière was glad for the chance to be alone and have something to do while he brainstormed. Despite how angry he wanted to be with Nicolas, it was not his friend's fault. Lumière should have expected this to happen _and_ drawn up a plan B instead of wasting the day before they had left on the harpsichord.

He paused in the middle of grabbing ingredients from the pantry to shake out the regrets. _Time is wasted thinking on the past,_ he reminded himself.

As he let the simmering, sizzling, and smells of the cooking food keep his attention, he waited for some idea— _any_ idea—that could be his answer.

* * *

When a tall mass of stone buildings and clay rooftops appeared on the horizon, Babette rubbed the shoulder of her napping maid. "Bernadette," she called. "We are almost there."

Bernadette slowly sat up and stretched as the post-chaise hit a bump on the road. Both bounced on the cushioned seats and she squeaked in surprise mid-yawn.

Recovering quickly, she tried to peek around the driver and horses. "Ooh, how close are we?"

"About thirty minutes, miss, give or take," the driver said over his shoulder.

Bernadette slumped. "Oh."

In contrast, Babette's back had hardly touched the chaise the entire day's ride. She smiled apologetically at her maid. "I am sorry to have woken you so soon."

"Oh, there is no need to apologize," Bernadette hurried to assure. "I'm sorry I haven't been much company! Carriages always make me sleepy." To emphasize her point, she sang through another yawn.

Thinking of how little she normally talked while riding, Babette said, "I am hardly adequate company either." She glanced at her, smirking. "What fine traveling companions we make."

Giggling, Bernadette looked at the clear blue sky. "This _has_ been the most amiable ride I can remember. Such beautiful weather, too!"

Babette had to grimace as she remembered the few rides she had made with her family last year. "We were rather inclined to argue, weren't we? My parents and I."

Her maid gave her a meek shrug. "Perhaps, but…" She covered Babette's hand encouragingly. "Things have certainly improved since you returned home."

Babette tried to mirror her smile, but it fell short. Bernadette withdrew her hand as they mutually looked off to watch the countryside begin to fade into the outskirts of Paris.

She could feel Bernadette making sidelong glances at her as the silence progressed, and Babette patiently waited for her to say what she must.

As predicted, Bernadette tentatively said, "Mistress, forgive me for asking, but… have you been feeling well?"

Babette closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply as the maid continued, "You've seemed… out-of-sorts this past week."

The viscountess hesitated. She wanted to let someone she trusted in on her secrets, especially for this trip, but how much should she really tell? Bernadette still answered in some respects to her parents; could she make Babette a promise to keep what she told her in the strictest of confidence?

The answer came to her quickly. _Yes._ Babette needed a true ally and confidante while in Nicolas and Lumière's company, and Bernadette was not only the singular candidate, but she was an ideal one. When she thought on it, all Babette really needed was someone loyal and honest, qualities Bernadette had in abundance.

She turned in her seat to face Bernadette, her gaze earnest as she took the maid's hand in hers. "Bernadette, I… have a confession to make."

Bernadette gripped her hand, sensing the urgency immediately. "What is it, my lady?"

"You do remember I mentioned Nicolas had a guest staying with him?"

"Oui, of course."

About to shiver from nerves, Babette took another deep breath. "Well, this guest… is a very old and dear friend of his." She arranged her words carefully, implementing enough truth to be convincing. "I had been looking forward to meeting him, but… I realized that we were already acquainted."

Bernadette's eyes grew wide. "Really? Who was it?"

In a low voice, Babette told her, "I worked beside him at Château du Lac."

The maid's jaw dropped. "Oh _no!_ Does—Does M. de Créquy know the truth now? About you?"

"As far as I know, this friend of his has not revealed anything," Babette admitted, a lump forming in her throat. "What is worse is that I was… quite close with him while I was there, and… I have told him about… my past affairs. I believe, despite that he knows those days are behind me… he does not think me worthy of Nicolas' hand."

Bernadette gasped, looking personally offended. "Yes, you _are_!"

To assert how serious she was, she fully turned her body to face Babette, her gaze unwavering. "Mademoiselle, I am sorry I have not congratulated you before now, but may I say I have watched you grow into such an elegant lady. I have seen the looks M. de Créquy gives you, and there is no question he adores you. If a gentleman like him not only approves of you, but is eager to _marry_ you, then no one can deny your worth." She furrowed her brow with determination. "Who is this friend of his? What is his name?"

Babette pursed her lips, having felt an unexpected pang in her heart at Bernadette's words before she whispered, "Lumière. He was Nicolas' valet before he left to become maître d' at the château."

Bernadette blinked as she looked away in thought. "Lumière… why does that name sound familiar?"

With a groan, Babette pleaded, "Please do not tell me you have met him, too."

Bernadette slowly shook her head. "I do not think I have… Oh! Yes, oui, from Marion!"

"Who?"

Bernadette tilted her head, insisting, "You know my cousin, Marion! From the tavern?"

Her confusion cleared in a blink of an eye. "Ah, oui! I suppose that would make sense for them to be acquainted." A curious eyebrow raised, Babette asked, "She mentioned him to you?"

"At some point, yes. She seemed to like him from what I recall."

"The majorities tend to," Babette granted, though she was unable to suppress an eye roll.

"But wait…" A small, doubtful line appeared on Bernadette's forehead. "If Marion likes him, and Nicolas considers him a close friend… how bad could he really be?"

"Bernadette…" Babette began to warn. Her maid was always more inclined to see the good in others, but that couldn't be the case this time. She needed her completely on her side.

She glanced at the driver before murmuring gravely, "He tried to reveal the truth about me in front of Nicolas _and_ his parents. I would bet even now he is trying to persuade Nicolas against our marriage."

Bernadette looked sadly dismayed. "You really think he would do that?"

"Why not?" Babette argued, her tone turning cold. "He does not trust me, nor I him. That is why I need your help."

Without hesitation, her maid gave a fervent nod and gripped her hands more tightly. "What can I do?"

Every beat of her heart felt dismal as she spoke her commands, but Babette knew deep down it was the wiser thing to do.

"First," she instructed, "I beg of you, _never_ allow me to be alone with him. He managed to isolate me from Nicolas the other day and…" Her fury was almost rekindled at the thought of Lumière's words, but she stifled it, sighing, "Oh, never again!"

Before Bernadette could ask why, she pushed on, "Second, as much as discretion will allow, I would like you to make sure he is not alone with Nicolas for too long. I want to prevent any accusations he has of me from being voiced to monsieur in private, as much as I can help it."

When she saw Bernadette purse her lips, Babette inquired, "What do you think?"

"Well…" The maid perked up to say, "The first shall be easy! I will be sure not to leave your side unless at your request. The second, however…" She grimaced. "I cannot guarantee how I could stay in a room with them after you leave without seeming suspicious."

"I understand." Babette pouted her mouth in thought before saying, "I know I am asking for more than I should be, but I promise, I will help you as much as I can."

Bernadette seemed nervous at the prospect, but nodded compliantly.

After patting her maid's hand, Babette boldly straightened. "But let's not forget we are in Paris! We can still have our fun."

Bernadette brightened as she grinned. "I certainly hope so! It would be quite a shame if we didn't!"

As they looked to the towering apartments and shops that now surrounded them, their laughter blended in with the chatter of the townspeople meandering by their chaise.

* * *

 _I know I said I would be updating more quickly, but I'm afraid my workload is still quite unyielding. I apologize! Hopefully once my summer class is finished (it's a screenwriting class, wouldn't you guess), I can direct all of my creative energies here. I would love to keep this story moving!_

 _Thank you again for your support!_


	10. Foolproof

_Chapter Ten: Foolproof_

Nicolas was unpacking his things in his usual bedroom at the front of the hôtel when he saw a post-chaise come to a halt below. With all due swiftness, he dropped what he was doing and headed downstairs.

His fiancée and her maid had only stepped from the carriage when he greeted them. "Bonsoir, mesdames!"

Babette looked down from the hôtel's ivory facade, her features immediately brightening at the sight of him. "Bonsoir, monsieur. How are you?"

"Very well, thank you." His smile warmed from her glowing expression. "We are just settling in. We only arrived about an hour ago." He nodded to the petite brunette beside the viscountess. "And you must be Bernadette."

"Oui, monsieur," Bernadette acknowledged, curtseying. " _Enchantée_."

"Likewise," he replied with utmost sincerity. "I hope your ride was pleasurable?"

Babette shrugged, wearing a rather beguiling smile. "What else could be expected from driving through the countryside?"

Marc approached from behind Nicolas, a little breathless. "Good evening, mesdames!" he acknowledged with a bow.

"Nice of you to join us," Nicolas teased before gesturing to the ladies, "This is Marc, our head of house for the week."

A bit of color rose to Marc's ears as he made a face. "My apologies for the delay. I was prepping your room, mademoiselle," he said to Babette. "I hope it is to your liking."

"I have no doubt it will be," Babette assured. "Merci."

Marc curiously watched Bernadette for a moment, but her attention was caught in the detail of the property's architecture. He casually recovered with, "I shall attend to your luggage then."

While he went to take their bags from the driver, Babette eyed Bernadette to see if she had noticed his regard, but she seemed perfectly oblivious.

* * *

At Babette's prompting, Nicolas showed her and Bernadette around the hôtel. He was delighted by her eagerness to see his family's Parisian home, and it showed how happy he was to have her there. This made Babette's heart flutter, but then her stomach was tying into knots at the other presence she knew occupied the place.

On the night Nicolas had visited le Château du la Clayette, Babette had the intention to mention her favor, but once the offer to join them in Paris had been laid on the table, how could she refuse? It kept her from the awkwardness of asking Nicolas to do the work for her; she could keep an eye on Lumière herself.

She had wondered on the way there if she had seemed too fervent in voicing her desire to see Paris again, but Nicolas, especially after a few glasses of wine, had not seemed to notice then or now.

Babette breathed a slow sigh of relief as she admired the rooms and galleries Nicolas presented to them. As long as Nicolas' opinion of her remained steadfast and good, she could be content.

Nicolas walked a full circuit with them up and around the hôtel before concluding in the dining room, where the glass and silverware had already been set. Although Babette wished she could decline, it undoubtedly would seem suspicious if she went to bed after refusing supper. She knew she should eat, but the knots in her stomach were keeping her preoccupied. She was going to have to sit across from Lumière all week, so she might as well become accustomed to it.

When Nicolas went to pull a chair for Babette next to the head of the table, Bernadette tried to excuse herself.

"Wait, wait," Babette halted with a stretched-out hand. "Please, join us! I give you all of my permission."

Bernadette's eyes widened, stunned. She glanced between her mistress and the kitchen doors before she blinked. "Well… if you insist, my lady."

"I do!" Babette said, smiling as she referred to the seat next to her.

Nicolas stepped to pull the chair out for Bernadette also. Babette didn't think her maid's eyes could get any bigger.

"Mademoiselle?" he offered in a most gentlemanly manner.

Bernadette realized her jaw was unhinged and promptly closed it. "Oui, monsieur," she breathed. "Merci beaucoup!"

She slowly sat as he pushed her chair in, seeming quite star-struck.

Babette laughed behind closed lips at her maid's endearing expression. However, she couldn't help but think how tragic it was Bernadette could be so shocked she was given consent to sit with nobility.

It was true that Bernadette nor any of their servants had ever been indulged to sit with her family even when no company was with them. Though her parents were more progressive than the majority of their class, it was simply a line that was never crossed. The help remained separate from them, despite how esteemed and cared for they were under her parents' employment.

After working for several weeks in a servant's shoes, Babette thought the divide rather unnecessary in circumstances like this. With neither sets of parents being present, why shouldn't Bernadette be allowed to dine with them?

As Nicolas took the spot at the head, Marc came out of the kitchen with a bottle of white wine in one hand and a covered tray in the other. His eyes lit up in surprise at seeing Bernadette sitting next to her mistress. A slight smile crossed his mouth.

After setting the tray at the table's center, he began to fill their glasses. "Lumière is putting the finishing touches on dinner and should only be a few more minutes."

At Bernadette's side, Marc seemed about to prompt her as he poured her wine, but Nicolas said to him, "Marc, when you're finished in there, you are more than welcome to join us."

Similar to Bernadette's look a moment earlier, Marc's eyes widened. "Oh! I will most certainly take you up on that offer, monsieur, merci!"

"Is, erm…" Nicolas stumbled on the name. "… Pauline still here?"

Marc shook his head. "No, monsieur. I gave her permission to go home for the night."

The viscount nodded. " _Bien_. I only wanted to be sure the invitation was extended to everyone."

"Of course," Marc acknowledged with a broad grin. He went to leave, but abruptly stopped himself and reached for the tray's cover. "Excuse me, I almost forgot!" he mustered before scurrying back into the kitchen.

Under the removed silver dome was a varied tray of canapés set into neat and colorful rows. Suddenly, Babette realized how hungry she really was and took to taking a piece for herself, but at longer inspection, it struck her that the hors d'œuvres arrangement had a familiarity to it.

Babette briefly pursed her lips. She had definitely seen this same tray multiple times before while she had worked in Château du Lac's kitchens. She had even laid out this array herself before, as Lumière had taught her.

Will those days never cease to taunt her?

Managing a deep breath as she chewed, she turned to Nicolas. Only conversation was at her disposal to rid her of this severe sense of déjà vu. "I see you have recovered well from the other night," she noted with false innocence.

Nicolas grimaced in defeat while trying to hide a smile. "Perhaps with some difficulty." He glanced behind him to make sure the boys hadn't emerged from the kitchen, and whispered begrudgingly to them, "Lumière had to wake me yesterday morning."

Babette arched an eyebrow, a smirk appearing on her scarlet lips. "From your tone, I am assuming he was not very kind."

He shook his head, his exasperated expression saying it all. "One of his signature characteristics is that he always takes advantage of a good opportunity."

Dieu, _I know that too well_ , Babette thought as she sipped her wine.

Feeling more confident in her inclusion, Bernadette inquired, "What did he do, if I may ask?"

Nicolas released a chuckle and absentmindedly scratched his chin before he replied, "It involved a _chaufferette_ , a stoker, and plenty of clanging."

Babette had to laugh. That was all she needed to hear to picture precisely what Lumière had done, and his actions came as no surprise to her.

"I am sorry for your rude awakening," she said sincerely, though the image was humorous.

"Oh, you are not the one who needs to apologize. I plan on making him feel sorry for it later," Nicolas murmured forebodingly.

Babette giggled, secretly hoping it would be while she was sleeping in the same home with them. If Lumière deserved anything, it was the taste of his own medicine.

Speaking of the devil, the maître d' himself swept into the dining room, a bottle of red wine in hand. Marc, a large serving platter in his arms, began setting beautifully garnished plates of tender pork with side dishes of salad and bread.

"Bonsoir, mesdames et monsieur," Lumière suavely greeted before he began filling each tenant's second glass, starting with Nicolas. "You all are gifted with the patience of saints! I hope, despite it being a rather humble dinner, it is worth the wait."

Babette tried not to tense as he neared her, but he moved on to Bernadette quickly after pouring her wine.

"And, mademoiselle, for whom do I have the pleasure of serving?" he addressed to the maid.

At his charming smile and sonorous tone, a rose color brightened her cheeks. "Bernadette, monsieur," she quietly replied.

"As M. de Créquy has graciously informed you," he said with a teasing glance at his friend, "I am Lumière." He inclined his head. "Delighted to make your acquaintance."

Nicolas scowled at knowing he was overheard as Bernadette responded kindly, "As am I, monsieur. Merci."

Babette saw Lumière smirk to himself as he went to fill his and Marc's glasses across from the ladies. He must have noticed her maid's blush. Though her jaw tightened, she kept from gritting her teeth. _If he gives me one more thing to worry about…_

The vicomte bitterly pointed out to Lumière, "I am glad to have spared you the trouble of telling that story yourself."

Between setting the bottle down and taking the seat at Nicolas' left, Lumière paused to act offended. "As though I would _intend_ to embarrass you. And in front of your ladylove, no less! Non, _mon ami,_ you do that well enough on your own without my help."

Nicolas looked at the girls, his face prominently reading, _See what I have to deal with?_

As Bernadette giggled behind a hand, Babette gave him a small empathetic smile. She understood this was how the two of them functioned, especially since she had been on the receiving end of Lumière's teasing more times than she could name. But after her last encounter with the maître d', his prods seemed far sharper. Crueler, even.

 _How better to hide his cynicism?_ she argued as she took up her knife and fork.

Across from her, Lumière watched Babette turn her eyes to her plate. As before, she must intend to keep to herself. At how he had goaded her at their last shared meal, he could hardly blame her. No, he intended to respect her wishes this time. As much as he wanted to reclaim her good opinion through his usual art of persuasion, his charm was more fit to annoy her than appease. He was betting that carefully chosen words and subtle approaches were going to do the job. Since they would be in constant company for the next few days, he was counting on those opportunities when the moments presented themselves.

"So, mesdames," he addressed, though mostly to Bernadette, "am I right to assume monsieur gave you a tour of our humble lodgings?"

Babette barely deigned him a glance. But with a stifled laugh, Bernadette smiled and replied, " _Mais oui_ , but I would never dare call any _part_ of this place humble! I am sure monsieur is tired of hearing my compliments, so I will only say once more how marvelously well kept it is, and for a holiday home!"

"Oh, mademoiselle, that is certainly high praise! Alas," Lumière said with a showman's remorse, "Nicolas nor myself are deserving of such accolades, and we would be remiss to accept them when the one man responsible for our glistening hôtel is seated among us."

He looked to Marc as the footman ate a mouthful of bread that made his cheek protrude. Marc blinked at being addressed, eyeing Lumière and Bernadette in turn before swallowing his bread with some difficulty. Bernadette pressed her lips together to prevent a laugh from escaping.

Marc cleared his throat and straightened in his seat. "I suppose I can take some responsibility," he managed with modesty, nodding to Bernadette. "Merci, mademoiselle. I shall relate your compliments to the maids who helped when I see them next."

Bernadette's eyes brightened. "Would you? That would be so kind, thank you!"

Marc smiled back, but soon flitted his eyes back to his food. Lumière thought he saw the footman's ears flushing.

* * *

After a generally pleasant meal, Lumière and Marc began cleaning up while the rest headed to the salon, but Bernadette stalled at the doorway.

"Actually, messieurs," she asked after exchanging a parting look with Babette, "would you like my assistance?"

Surprised at her offer, Lumière hesitated in replying, but as he was about to, Marc exclaimed, "No, no, please, go rest!"

At the maid's uncertain expression, Marc checked himself. "You are very generous to offer, mademoiselle, but truly, I would not wish to make you work after the long hours you drove to travel here. I'm sure you're exhausted!"

Bernadette grinned. "True, but really, I do not mind! Here…" She walked up to Marc and took the stack of plates and silverware from his hands before heading to the kitchen. "I will start washing these!"

As the door shut behind her, Lumière glanced at a stricken Marc staring after her. The footman quickly averted his gaze to see Lumière's smirk.

Marc narrowed his eyes. "This is still between us," he whispered.

"Naturally," the maître d' agreed. "And soon it will be between you and her."

Marc took a deep breath, as though the thought of that made him anxious. Lumière gave him an encouraging clap behind his shoulder before returning the bottles of wine to the pantry.

After the gentlemen had cleared the table, Marc went to stand next to Bernadette at the water basin, taking up a towel to dry what she had cleaned. At seeing this, Lumière quickly snatched three glasses for drinks and made himself scarce.

Upon entering the salon, he saw Nicolas and Babette sitting close together on the chaise, but if either had been doing something they didn't want others to see, neither showed it. Based on all Lumière knew of both of them, Nicolas certainly would have been the one to react upon his entrance. That managed to put Lumière at ease, if only by a slight margin.

As Lumière walked by them to the armchair, Nicolas eyed the bottle in his hands. "What is that? Hoping to get me into a more drunken state than the other night?"

Lumière playfully balked at the accusation. "Nicolas, such suspicion! What purpose could I have to put you in a stupor when mademoiselle has already been a witness to it?"

"In truth," Babette corrected rather pointedly, "he carried himself quite well after…" She regarded Nicolas. "What was it? Seven glasses?"

Nicolas shrugged, the glow of the hearth muting the blush that Lumière knew had grown on his cheeks. "Admittedly, I don't recall the exact number."

"Either way," Lumière continued as Babette giggled, "it is not wine I have here, but champagne."

"Champagne?" Nicolas furrowed his brow in confusion. "What could we be celebrating?"

" _Mon ami_ , we have plenty to celebrate!"

" _Do_ we?"

"Of course!" Lumière popped the cork of the bottle before filling the flutes he had set on the side table next to him. "I have not properly congratulated you— _both_ of you—on your engagement, so here I am in the hopes that these will make up for it," he said as he handed them each a glass.

Nicolas took his drink with a shrug, but he looked pleased with the gesture. However, Lumière was keen to watch Babette's reaction. Though she accepted her flute willingly, she looked like she was trying to hide her skepticism behind a veil of politeness. While Lumière grabbed his glass, she went to raise the drink to her lips.

"Ah-ah, mademoiselle!" Lumière stopped. "It would be bad luck to drink before I have given my toast."

"Here we go…" Nicolas muttered with an eyeroll. Babette bit her lip to keep herself from laughing.

Lumière stood straighter, defending rationally, "If I am to bring out a fine bottle of champagne, I must use it properly. Otherwise—"

"It would be a waste?" Nicolas finished knowingly.

"Precisely! You like to deny my influence, but you cannot always hide it." He smirked at his friend. "I knew I taught you well."

"At the rate you're going, we will be drinking flat champagne instead. Then it will _really_ have been a waste."

"I will keep it brief," Lumière promised, his gaze straying to Babette. As he raised his glass, his nerves sent the slightest of tremors through his arm, but he managed to say smoothly, "To a happy engagement, and an even happier life together after."

"And to you, that you may be willing, when the woman is right, to allow your own engagement," Nicolas offered with a genuine grin.

They drank, but Lumière did so in one gulp. He wanted to immediately fill his glass again, but he knew he had to pace himself. Rushing to get more alcohol into his system as much as he felt he needed it wouldn't look well. He stifled a grimace. _Why had I not grabbed something stronger?_

"So," he went on as he took a seat, leaning back into his armchair in an attempt to calm his racing heart. "Before I had interrupted, what was the topic of intrigue between you?"

Unable to meet Babette's eye, he directed his question more toward Nicolas, who replied, "Nothing as salacious as you might have hoped."

Prompted by a glance from Nicolas, Babette began to explain, and Lumière forced himself to watch her. "On the way here, I saw posters for a _Concert Spirituel_ tomorrow night." She shrugged rather meekly. "I don't know about either of you, but I have not had the pleasure of hearing concert music in quite some time."

"Those are normally done at Tuileries, oui?" Lumière asked, trying to even his gaze between them.

Babette nodded as Nicolas said, "Yes, at six o'clock. If it's a nice day, we could spend it taking a promenade around the gardens." He referred to Lumière with his champagne. "What do think? I'm happy to go if you are, unless you had something else planned."

Lumière laughed. "You know perfectly well that when in Paris, my itinerary is completely improvised." He raised an amused eyebrow at his friend. "What did you think I would be doing?"

"Catching up on gossip along Saint-Honoré."

Remembering, Lumière added with a sly smirk, "At precisely two o'clock on Sundays."

As he poured himself another glass, Babette hesitated but inquired anyway, "And what would happen at two o'clock?"

The boys exchanged mischievous looks. As Lumière sipped his champagne, the viscount shook his head and chuckled, saying to his betrothed, "Before their salons, the women would visit the shops there."

This time, the maître d' watched the viscountess willingly, daring her to criticize. But she looked to be humored at the thought. "To partake in more than gossip, I imagine."

Despite her knowing look, Lumière asked, "I wonder, has Nicolas told you too much, or am I really so predictable?"

Babette arched an eyebrow paired with the smallest of wry smiles that clearly read, _Which do you think?_ He figured she thought as much. If only _she_ were as easy to predict.

"Saint-Honoré is not far from Tuileries," she noted. "If you so wish, you could wander there of your own accord."

Lumière eyed her, catching on to her ploy immediately. "I suppose Nicolas had left out that little detail."

Babette furrowed her brow, miffed that she had to take the bait. "Which one?"

He tried to keep the triumph from showing in his smile. "He would normally join me. Oui, I could go on my own, but it is never as much fun."

"At least you can admit it," Nicolas teased. "But this time, as you can probably guess… I am less inclined to seek out the company of other women."

"It is almost counterproductive to come to Paris thinking that way." As Lumière finished off another flute, he saw Babette minutely roll her eyes behind her own glass.

He took a discreet breath to ease himself. Her obvious intolerance of him was cutting more deeply than he had expected it to, than it had previously. It needed to end.

"Perhaps," the viscount conceded with a grin, "but in any case, do not let us keep you from taking in the usual sights. I would hate to be that man for any monsieur that's unattached, most of all you."

Trying to put Babette's malice out of mind, Lumière mirrored his friend's expression. "The words of a true _ami de cœur_." He fingered his empty glass, feeling humbled. "I suppose my company would all but depend on your will to keep it. Both of yours," he added with a nod to the viscountess.

Nicolas seemed baffled by this statement. "Why wouldn't we?"

Taking this as a welcome distraction, Lumière replied, "Hmm, I'm not sure, Nicolas!" He brought a facetiously thoughtful hand to his chin. "Maybe you should ask the woman beside you if my presence would ever be deemed unfit in _certain_ situations."

Lumière's sarcastic façade broke as he laughed at Nicolas' embarrassment. "You are very lucky naiveté looks so endearing on you, _mon ami_. It would seem not half as flattering on me."

At that moment, Babette covered her mouth as she yawned. "Excuse me," she sincerely said, setting down her empty glass. "I know it is still early, but…"

Nicolas nodded in agreement, standing to lend her hand off the chaise. "I think I am finished for the night, too. Lumière?"

The maître d' stood from his armchair, having to stretch what he realized had been tension in his back and shoulders, but he knew who was its cause. "I am finding the past two days of travel have caught up with me as well."

Babette tentatively glanced at the doorway toward the kitchen but led the way upstairs otherwise. Lumière kept himself busy gathering their drinks to avoid parting exchanges with her, but thankfully, that formality also was dropped on her end. Nicolas followed her out while Lumière took their empty flutes and the leftover champagne back to the kitchen.

Bernadette and Marc turned to face him as he pushed the doors open, but again, at least he hadn't interrupted anything more than innocent conversation. He assumed _both_ would have been startled upon his entrance.

He kindly nodded to Bernadette. "Mademoiselle, your mistress has decided to retire for the evening."

The maid jumped from her position leaning on the counter. "Oh, _mais oui!_ Merci, monsieur." She inclined her head to Marc, granting him a meek smile that the footman returned.

"Bonne nuit to you both," she imparted as she scurried out of the kitchen.

As Lumière set the glasses by the water basin and replaced the bottle's cork, he eyed Marc. "Well? How is she?"

Marc maintained a casual veneer for the whole of five seconds before his mouth broke into a grin. "She is… quite lovely. I do not believe I have yet met a woman so pure and good."

"Really?" Lumière balked, proceeding to wash the glasses in the basin. "I thought such angels on earth were a dying breed!"

"I'm serious!" Marc assured as he came to the maître d's side, his passion tangible. "She did not say a cross word about _anything!_ Not of her mistress, or her position. There is no part of our conversation that seemed she is the least bit aloof or dishonest. Such sincerity!" he sighed like the word was a breath of fresh air.

"Calm yourself, Marc," Lumière lightly warned. "Becoming too enthralled too soon, no matter how wonderful the mademoiselle may seem, is dangerous."

"I suppose, but—"

With the attitude of a father, Lumière insisted prudently, "Non, there are no exceptions, even for a sweet girl like Bernadette. One private discussion does not tell you all you need to know. You must keep your mind active. You must doubt who she presents herself to be, as much as you may want to believe her." He then granted with a shrug, "At least in the beginning."

Marc observed Lumière for a thoughtful moment as the maître d' returned his attention to cleaning the flutes. He crossed his arms. "That seems like heavy-handed advice from someone who has made women a hobby."

Lumière chuckled, grabbing a towel to dry the glasses. "I have had many years to acquaint myself with their ways. I thought like you once, truly! But I have made sure to learn from my mistakes. You are fortunate enough not to have fallen for a woman's charms so easily until now. Most messieurs cannot speak to having such restraint, myself included."

"But… not all women are the same."

"And I praise His name as often as I remember that fact!" Lumière set the last sparkling glass down before giving the footman his full attention. "But think on it, Marc… Imagine if Bernadette was a man instead of a woman."

" _What?"_

"Play along! My point will become clear," Lumière urged, smiling at Marc looking aghast. "Same features, same charms, personality… A petite _garçon_ with dark hair and large brown eyes, who is as polite and heartfelt as any you would come across. How would you react to him?"

Marc looked downright puzzled, but managed to respond, despite his uncertainties, "I would… not be very sure of him."

"Precisely! You would need to take the time to see if he is to be trusted."

Marc shook his head as he countered, "But being petite, polite, and heartfelt are not as admirable in a man as it is in a woman."

"In our society's eyes, yes, this is true, but that is my point exactly! Those qualities in a man would spur your instinct to be critical, so why should they not do the same when endowed to a woman?"

When doubt crossed Marc's expression, Lumière added, "Ladies have as much capacity to be cunning as men, maybe even more so. Not to mention they are much better at hiding it." When he thought of whom embodied this idea, he was sad to see Babette was amongst the first. He withheld a sigh that accompanied a wave of melancholy. "Trust my word as an eyewitness."

With a grimace, Marc sighed against the counter. " _Bien,_ I can see what you mean." He rested his cheek on his fist. "It ruins the romance of it all though, doesn't it?"

Lumière paused as he hung the flutes back in the cupboard. "Not necessarily. You could take… well, _me_ for example. I am constantly anticipating what a woman will do, yet both parties will find something to enjoy, whether it's engaging conversation, a bit of banter, or… more passionate pursuits. If done well, neither of you will ever find the romance wanting."

Marc was silent, his mouth in a contemplative pout, before he began tentatively, "I imagine the four of you will be going about Paris fairly often."

Lumière arched an eyebrow at the intent his observation was leading toward. "So it would seem. In fact, we will be around Tuileries tomorrow all afternoon and evening."

Marc nodded, his gaze unwavering. "While I am to stay here."

Lumière sighed. "Marc, you know you must manage the hôtel while we are not home."

The footman jumped to assure, "I know, I know! I was not about to ask if I could join you."

Lumière scrutinized him. Marc had been hired after Lumière had left for his position at Château du Lac, and though he liked the footman and thought he was a good worker, he wouldn't say they were particularly close. This was actually the first time Marc had tried to ask him for a favor, whatever it was. "All right… Then what _are_ you asking?"

"Well…" Marc was starting to look nervous. "Since you will most likely be spending more time with her than me… could you…?"

Based on previous experience, the maître d' guessed, "Put in a good word for you?"

"No. I mean…" Marc shyly grimaced. "Not _yet_."

Lumière had to smile at Marc's struggle to articulate. "Is there more?"

" _D'accord_ ," Marc breathed, looking resolved. "Lumière… based on what I know, you seem to be a good judge of character."

Lumière chuckled. "This must be a most crucial favor for you to open it with flattery." When Marc bit his lip, he assured, "I am teasing! I appreciate that you think so."

Though this was supposed to relieve Marc, it didn't appear to have any effect on his agitation. He gripped the edge of the counter he was leaning on. "I was hoping, seeing as you will be in Bernadette's company, if… you could perhaps—"

Lumière completed his thought with a smirk. "Make sure she is as angelic you describe."

Marc greatly exhaled now that his favor was in the open. "Yes! If it's not too much trouble. I know this is your holiday and all, but… I would trust you to be certain she is all that she appears to be, especially if what you say is true."

Lumière made a show of turning it over in his mind. Truthfully, he already had much to concentrate his energies on in not only clearing his name to Babette, but confirming she loved Nicolas alone. Then Augustine's request was also on the table, but luckily, their goals coincided toward similar ends. What Marc was asking would complicate things, and had little to do with his other priorities.

On second thought…

 _Having an excuse to become close with Bernadette may help me to win over Babette again,_ he realized. Who else would know her better than her maid, after all? Once the idea was sown, Lumière found he couldn't deny he was able to make it all work.

With a shrug, Lumière said, "I do not see what trouble it would cause."

Marc's face brightened with excitement and relief. He hurried to clasp his hand. "Ah, Lumière, you have my unending gratitude!"

"Nonsense!" Lumière waved off, finding Marc's enthusiasm contagious. "If it may lead to your happiness, _mon ami,_ I am only too glad to play a small part."

"Thank you, thank you!" Still wearing a huge smile, Marc went to the kitchen doors, but stopped short to inquire, "You will let me know of anything you learn, oui?"

"Simply ask, and you shall receive," the maître d' answered with grandeur.

Marc laughed. "Wonderful! I will be speaking with you tomorrow night then. Bonne nuit!"

With that, Marc hurried to check on his master before bed.

Lumière swept his eyes over the pristine kitchen, his craving for something stiffer to drink having passed. He was certain— _more_ than certain—that Bernadette would be the key to slipping behind the viscountess' collected, evasive, and sardonic guises. Her secrets would be revealed, and then he would know exactly how to proceed thereafter.

Perhaps he had been too quick to despair at her unexpected presence, and to doubt his own nimble ingenuity. How dare he!

Now he had a plan, a concrete strategy.

Lumière strode to the door with purpose, wearing the smile of a man who had already won.


	11. Walking on Eggshells

_Chapter Eleven: Walking on Eggshells_

At around half past nine, Lumière emerged from his room. Muted daylight streamed into the vestibule from the windows facing the courtyard, glittering off the brass chandelier that hung above. With a passing glance at Nicolas' door, he meandered onto the terrace.

The calm, crisp air of the morning greeted him, along with the sounds of traffic passing by beyond the hôtel's walls. Many citizens had long begun their days, but when one was on a holiday with aristocrats, sleeping in was only natural. In fact, he could guarantee Nicolas and Babette were not awake yet.

He leaned his arms on the wrought iron railing, rubbing the rest of the sleep from his eyes. It had taken what seemed like hours to quiet his thoughts the night before. He was glad to have an idea of how to finally resolve their inconspicuous game of tug-of-war, but he knew it wasn't going to be easy. He needed to tread carefully to avoid vexing Babette further. He couldn't give her anymore reason to dislike him. At this point, she was not in any position to grant him the benefit of the doubt, nor did he necessarily blame her with how he had retaliated so harshly back in La Clayette.

But it would all be so much simpler if everything were out in the open. If Nicolas had known the truth from the start—

 _Then he would not have dared impede on my own happiness,_ Lumière reasoned. With how Nicolas kept mentioning it, it appeared his friend would like nothing more than to see him in love as much as he was, even though Nicolas would deny his feelings and motives for as long as he could. Though the constant deceit was taxing on his conscience, it was best for both Nicolas and Babette that the viscount did not ever realize the depth of Lumière's feelings for his future wife. He was already enough of an obstacle without that tidbit being known.

He lifted his head and looked to the sky. A clear, cloudless, cerulean dome of blue. If all else failed, at least the weather would be in their favor.

"Hey! Lumière!"

The maître d's eyes followed the call from below to see Marc staring up at him from the courtyard. "Oh! Bonjour, Marc!" he pleasantly saluted. "Were you standing there long?"

The footman bounced nervously on the balls of his feet. "Non, I was just about to come wake you! Mademoiselle has been downstairs for almost an hour, and—"

Lumière's smile dropped in an instant. "Say no more," he interrupted. "I will be down in a moment."

He hurried off the terrace before Marc could respond and took to the arcade's set of stairs. Lumière shook his head, bewildered. _Almost an hour? Why would she be up before nine?_

Marc met him at the foot of the steps and walked with him down the hall towards the dining room, clearly flustered. "I had gone on my morning run to Les Halles for the day's meat and produce and then I come to find she had been awake as long as me… oh, I feel terrible for not having been here."

"You have no need to be," Lumière said in an attempt to soothe. "Mademoiselle is not one to fuss over this sort of thing. I am sure she is not offended in the slightest."

Marc took a deep breath. "All right, if you are sure." With an apologetic look, he began to retrace his steps. "Excuse me, I have to bring in the rest of the food."

Lumière watched Marc's back for a moment, heaving a sigh. _Into the lioness's den alone,_ he observed. _I hope her maid is awake as well._

But upon entering the dining room, he realized quickly it was not to be. He hesitated in the doorway as he found himself alone with Babette, who sat in the same seat as the night before, a cup of coffee in one hand and a thick novel under the other as it rested on the table. She was already put together for the day, her hair styled into a crown of braids that led to an elegant chignon. Her satin dress was a dull periwinkle, and as she glanced up, he couldn't help but notice how well it complemented her eyes.

Composing himself, he nodded to her. "Mademoiselle."

He saw her eyes briefly sweep his person, a slender eyebrow arching. "Monsieur," she acknowledged before she returned her attention to her book.

Thinking her aloof behavior was to be expected, Lumière walked leisurely toward the kitchen, but his gaze lingered on her trying to ignore him. He did not want to encourage her hatred, but how was it to be cured unless he made some show of effort?

He paused across from her as she took a sip from her cup. "Did Marc manage to make coffee for you? He seemed to regret not having been able to serve you at all."

Babette eyed him strangely as she set down her drink. "Non... I made it myself. I have not forgotten how."

An awkward laugh escaped him without his consent, but he regained his footing in saying, "Of course. I should not have assumed any less."

She caught on to the reference behind his wording, but her pointed expression was only of prideful concurrence until she turned her eyes once more to the pages of her book.

He furrowed his brow, feeling a twinge of indignation. "I apologize," he went on, watching with the slightest of pleasure as her concentration was broken again, "that breakfast was not prepared upon your wakening."

" _C'est bien_ ," she seemed to accept, keeping her eyes averted. "I did not expect it to be served so early anyway."

"Nevertheless," he said, striving to be lighthearted yet sincere, and the better person, "I feel as though I am being remiss in my duties. Is there anything I can provide for you now, before I prepare breakfast?"

She shook her head, but then focused intently on him, her small smirk giving away her attempt to challenge him. "I scavenged some bread from the kitchen for myself. I hope you do not mind."

"I am sorry you had to scavenge at all," he replied honestly, unsure of her angle. "How could I mind when you had no other option?"

With deliberateness, she reasoned, "I am a stranger in your friend's holiday home."

"You are a _guest_ in your _fiancé's_ holiday home," he immediately corrected, adding with a wry grin, "You are too far-gone to be considered a stranger in any respect."

His answer notably caught her off-guard. She offered a demure shrug, dropping her gaze. "I suppose that is true," she had to admit.

Perhaps he was rather desperate for a foothold, but as minute as it was, Lumière believed this reaction was progress. With a hand on the kitchen door, he felt confident enough to casually ask, "Have you normally awoken this early? I could accommodate myself so as not to put you through the same trouble."

"Please," Babette entreated in a tone far less subtle, so much that he heard her roll her eyes rather than witness it. "Do not take any pains on my behalf."

Lumière hid a bitter grimace. _I should have known._ She didn't believe he was being sincere, although… what evidence did she have to maintain this suspicion?

He began to head into the kitchen, but stopped partway. He had half a mind to ask her then and there, but the boldness of it, an approach he had promised to avoid, made him hesitate. His curiosity won out, however, and he turned to her again, his delicately worded question posed on his tongue, but as he opened his mouth, another presence swept into the room.

"Mademoiselle, I don't know," Bernadette said dubiously, looking about the modest and elegant dress of pale saffron satin she wore. "It seems so… _fine_. Besides, I do not think it necessary to—"

The maid cut herself off as she noticed Lumière was in the room, and she blinked in surprise. "Oh! Pardon me, I did not mean to… intrude." She glanced at Babette apologetically.

"There was nothing to intrude on, mademoiselle," Lumière took the liberty to say, briefly eyeing the two of them in turn. As usual, Babette purposely kept her gaze away from him. "In fact, I believe it is I who is now intruding. I will leave you ladies be." With a foot in the kitchen, he smiled warmly at Bernadette. "And if it is any consolation, I think that dress is quite becoming on you."

He managed to see Bernadette's cheeks grow rosy before closing the door behind him.

* * *

Babette narrowed her eyes toward the kitchen, but he had disappeared before she could make out his intent. He could try and flatter her all he wanted, but for him to begin weaving his spell on Bernadette?

 _I will_ not _have it_ , she declared to herself with passion.

At least Bernadette seemed unaffected by his compliment: The maid hurried over to her mistress, whispering, "I am so sorry! It took me longer than I thought—"

Babette put a finger to her lips as she stood, and Bernadette silently nodded. Taking her novel but leaving her empty cup, Babette motioned for her maid to follow her out of the dining room.

In the hall, Bernadette went on anxiously, "You weren't talking to him long, were you?"

Babette shook her head. "Not to worry. It was not as unpleasant as I had anticipated." She calmed her residual nervousness with a deep breath, fingering the corners of her book's cover.

Bernadette's shoulders relaxed at her words as they came to the salon. "He was… cordial, then?" she inquired.

The viscountess took a seat on the chaise. "Oui, very much so," she confirmed, but Bernadette noted her disapproval.

She sat down next to her mistress, watching her curiously before asking, "And there is something wrong with that?"

"He is trying too hard," Babette concisely replied. "I could tell yesterday what he intends; it will take a great deal more than a show of good faith and pretty words to win my favor… It will not be so easy the second time," she muttered more under her breath than to Bernadette.

Then Babette sighed, straightened in her seat, and faced Bernadette with a small smile. "But enough about him. Please, stand for me! I want to see how it lays!"

Bernadette grinned with the humility typical of her character, and with some hesitation, obliged her.

Babette's smile widened as she looked on. "Oh, _ma chère,_ it fits you so well! And the color brings out your eyes." She did an excited hop in her seat, absolutely beaming. "I am so glad I thought to bring it with us! Now you will be a lady in the eyes of all who don't know it."

Her enthusiasm moved Bernadette, but she had to take pause. "I really appreciate your effort, mademoiselle, but isn't this… well, deceitful?"

"Not any more so than when Maman compliments Mme de Blanchefort on her wig," Babette argued with a smirk. Bernadette giggled. "Not to mention… with the company we will be keeping outside of the hôtel, this will guarantee that you will be treated as an equal wherever we go."

Sitting back down on the chaise, Bernadette lauded, "You really are too generous to think a simple change in dress will be enough to convince them I am a lady."

"You would be surprised," Babette said, chuckling. "Of course, acting the part will only help matters, and you have been a witness to that more times than we can name. Simply do the opposite of everything _I've_ done."

Bernadette hummed a laugh, but assured, "You like to mock yourself, but you truly weren't as horrible as you believe."

Babette shrugged, setting aside her book to avoid meeting Bernadette's eye. "I cannot deny the error of my ways."

Bernadette leaned forward to see her face, entreating quietly, "Living life as vigorously as you do is not a crime, mistress."

The viscountess smiled at the endearing manner her maid phrased it. "Perhaps, but there _is_ a right and wrong way to go about showing it. Life is far from a game, and I could not continue treating it as one." She gave the maid a convincing nod. "I am all the better for my time away."

Bernadette grinned sweetly in response, but her eyes seemed unsure, even probing.

 _Knock, knock._

The women glanced behind them, and at seeing Nicolas, got to their feet.

Babette's mouth spread into a smile. "Bonjour, _chèri_ ," she welcomed as he approached.

He took her hand and squeezed it as he kissed her cheek. "Good morning," he replied, wearing a secret smirk as a blush bloomed where his lips had been. He nodded to Bernadette as she curtseyed. "And to you as well. How are your rooms?" he addressed to both of them. "To your liking, I hope?"

"Need you ask?" Babette teased, feeling more at ease by his presence alone. "'Divine' is not a word I use often, but your parents' rooms fit it perfectly. They really do have exquisite taste."

"Especially when they decorated the gallery!" Bernadette piped in. "It was so charming to step outside the room and be greeted by such lovely pieces."

"That would be my mother's handiwork," Nicolas credited with a knowing smile. "She practically designed the hôtel herself. It was the barest of buildings when it was bought. Now every room has her signature on it." He shrugged as his dimples showed. "Not that I mind, of course."

"I can certainly see the resemblance," Babette noted, glancing around at the salon's reddish hues and warm textiles.

Nicolas followed where her eyes went, nodding. "It felt infinitely more like a proper home away from home after she was done with it." While he moved Babette's hand to the crook of his elbow, he inquired, "Are you ladies hungry? I'm sure Lumière should be finishing up something for us to eat."

Babette's gut tightened at the maître d's name, and she began to wonder if she would ever be able to stomach a meal with him ever again. Despite this, she nodded in consent and let Nicolas lead her from the room, but not before she grabbed for Bernadette's hand behind her and clutched it for support.

She couldn't see her maid's expression, but Bernadette reciprocated with a comforting pulse into her palm.

* * *

After everyone ate, Lumière cleaned up the dining room and kitchen, and Marc went to prepare the carriage and horses while Babette and Nicolas were finishing readying themselves. Bernadette was about to assist the boys in whatever they needed, but they kindly shooed her away, reminding her that she was in the elegant attire of a viscountess, and therefore would be respected as such. Disappointed yet touched, Bernadette indulged them and followed her mistress upstairs.

Arriving at Babette's chambers, Bernadette found her applying light rouge to her cheeks at the vanity. She approached her at the bench and swept a few of the curls around her shoulders to one side. "I really do love how your hair turned out."

" _Merci à toi_ ," Babette reminded in the mirror before her blue eyes glittered with an idea. "Will you allow me to do you the same honor?"

Bernadette's eyes widened. "Would you?"

Babette stood from the bench and excitedly ushered her maid onto it. She began combing through Bernadette's curls with her fingers, pursing her lips in thought. "Did you have any particular style in mind?"

Her excitement was tangible as she answered, "Only any of the ones I never get to wear otherwise!"

The vicomtesse smirked. "I believe I know just the thing." Taking a comb from the vanity, she took to parting Bernadette's hair along the crown of her head.

Bernadette watched her mistress through the mirror. "Are you looking forward to today?"

Babette glanced at Bernadette briefly before returning her focus to her hair, smiling as she replied, "Of course! I have never been to a _Concert Spirituel,_ yet I have heard they always have talented musicians playing, both amateur and professional. And the music they play is… elevated. More refined than what we would normally hear in La Clayette." She started pinning pads of dark wool into the part she had made in Bernadette's hair. "Do you remember when I had a music tutor?"

"Oh, oui! Remind me, what was his name?"

It took Babette a moment to remember. "Monsieur… Gaultier. His father was a famous lute composer, I suppose. He believed he could be of the same caliber in voice, but the apple fell further from the tree than he wanted to admit," she said with a giggle. "Anyway, I'm reminded of him because the songs he would try to have me sing felt more eloquent and sophisticated than what I was used to hearing. Unfortunately, I could never get through a song without going flat on those ridiculous high notes." Babette rolled her eyes as she sighed in frustration. "Maybe now I can finally hear what they are meant to sound like!"

Bernadette beamed. "I cannot wait for the concert then!" She paused before saying sincerely, "In truth, I quite liked listening to you sing."

Babette laughed, slyly meeting Bernadette's eye in the mirror. "That is very sweet of you. I am sure it did not sound too harsh before I spoiled such beautiful songs with my lack of talent."

The dear little maid put on an adorable pout. "There you are, mocking yourself again. And when there is no need!"

"Does being able to laugh at yourself not represent a mature sense of character?" Babette debated rationally. "I at least know my faults. Better to mock them than to parade them believing they are attractive qualities."

Bernadette couldn't argue, so she let the subject die as Babette teased her hair and pinned it over the pads of wool.

Gathering Bernadette's hair into a high chignon save for several select tendrils around the nape of her neck, Babette reversed, "And what about you? Are you eager to see how else we spend our time in Paris?"

"How can I not? I am already enjoying myself!"

Babette became thoughtful, tentatively glancing at Bernadette. "Have you contemplated on… who we will be spending our time with?"

Eying her mistress curiously, Bernadette released a chuckle. "Well, with Messieurs de Créquy and Lumière, naturally." At a slight pursing of Babette's lips, a hint of uncertainty flickered in Bernadette's face as she checked, "Is that right?"

" _Mais oui_ , you are right," Babette assured, thinking fast. "And… though we will all be spending time together, we will inevitably be… arranged into pairs."

Bernadette gave her a tiny nod so as not to mess too much with Babette's concentration. "I imagined as much."

When Babette didn't notice any change in Bernadette's demeanor, she continued with heavier insinuation, "As I am betrothed to Nicolas, I see it only fit to walk alongside him and be seated by him whenever the situation demands."

Bernadette blinked as it dawned on her. "So that would mean—"

"I am afraid so," Babette admitted with remorse at the maid's unease. "I am sorry to have put you in this position, but know I would have it a much different way if I had it within my power."

"What am I to do then?" she questioned, her hands beginning to fidget. "All I really know of him is what you have told me… and that he is quite charming in person."

Babette looked her dead in the eye. "Beware that charm of his. Do not take everything he says to heart. He loves to tease if only to get a great reaction from those around him. That is one of the ways he entertains himself."

" _One_ of the ways? What are the others?"

"Well…" Babette sighed, but tried to say as unceremoniously as possible, "With women."

She froze, dread crossing her face. "Oh no…"

"Non, non, do not fret, _ma chère_ ," the vicomtesse soothed. "Truly, it is not as bad as that. He mainly enjoys flirtatious banter, and he will not insist on anything unless you play along. We have that in your favor, at least."

With pleading eyes, Bernadette asked, "So what do I do?"

"Simply be yourself," Babette advised with confidence. "Let us not give him any reason to wonder what you know. I only want you to be wary of him and whatever his intentions may be. I know I have spoken ill of him, but despite my own reservations, you will get along with him rather well."

Bernadette chewed on her lip. "You are sure?"

With her hairstyle completed, Babette placed her hands reassuringly on her maid's shoulders. "You are open and honest, and always see the good in others. Nicolas is just the same, and they are the best of friends."

Her words seemed to relax Bernadette ever slightly, but hesitation was still in her expression as she focused on the cosmetics and perfumes on the vanity before her.

Babette sat down on the bench beside her, coaxing gently, "I want with all my heart for you to enjoy yourself, and I hope you do. I will do my best to intercede if I notice anything going awry, but I cannot imagine it would be likely. He is still, in most respects, a gentleman. I am sure we will have nothing to worry about," she added more to reassure herself than Bernadette.

The maid glanced her way, but her gaze seemed watchful. Babette was afraid she had seen her own apprehension of what could potentially result while they were in Paris, but then Bernadette gave her a small smile.

She nodded. " _Très bien._ I will keep him busy."

Babette felt such a rush of relief that she pulled her into a hug. "Oh, merci, Bernadette!"

She laughed at her gratitude, returning the embrace. "You're very welcome, mademoiselle."

Furrowing her brow with determination, Babette promised, "I will make a note to never burden you with another favor. What I have asked of you is more than enough for a lifetime!"

"Nonsense! I am here to help you with whatever you need, not only as your maid, but…" Bernadette's eyes shyly went to her lap. "Well, I have hoped that by now… you would consider me as a friend."

At this discretion, Babette's heart felt full. She had truly been blind before not to have realized the depth of caring her maid held for her. Her once insatiable need for distraction and escape kept her from seeing she indeed had always had a friend at home outside of her father. Even though it had taken a rude awakening, she was relieved by how much her time away from La Clayette was helping to open her eyes.

She shined a most genuine smile in return. "Without a doubt."

"Good." Bernadette then assessed her reflection, tilting her head to see her hair from different angles. The corners of her mouth slowly spread. "Oh, mademoiselle! _Je l'aime!_ I look… so elegant!" With a sideways glance, she wore a surprisingly mischievous smirk. "Those boys will not know what hit them."

Babette laughed jovially at such a delightfully unexpected reaction from her. A sense of contentment budded at her center as they both touched up their faces in the mirror. As brief as she knew this feeling would be, the loss of it would not detract from what she had gained: Not only an ally, but a friend as well.

* * *

 _I understand it's a lot of setup just for them to actually walk around Paris, but since they are forced to be in the same proximity all the time, I believe every interaction, especially between Lumière and Babette, is important and must be documented. I apologize if it seems tedious. I hope you're enjoying it otherwise!_


	12. Le Jardin Secret

_Chapter Twelve: Le Jardin Secret_

The gentlemen were waiting patiently in the courtyard for Babette and Bernadette to meet them. After some teasing on their part, Nicolas helped both ladies into the carriage before heading in himself, followed by Lumière. Perched in the driver's seat, Marc then shook the reins and they went rolling onto the street toward Tuileries Palace.

It took them fifteen minutes to reach it due to traffic and pedestrians, but in the ostensibly comfortable silence that pervaded the four of them, typically insignificant exchanges did not go unnoticed by vicomtesse or maître d': Lumière observed out of the corner of his eye Nicolas contently watching Babette as she peered out of the window, her inquisitive eyes absorbing everything she saw. What was more, Nicolas did not care to be discreet enough to look away when she caught him. They only smiled playfully at each other.

Feeling the prickling of the wound his envy had left, Lumière forced himself to be prudent and avert his gaze to their surroundings as well. His eyes mostly glazed over what he saw due to his abounding thoughts, but he was not so deep in a reverie to be unaware of the glances Bernadette made from her seat across from him. He met her eye, and based on the way she tried to recover by inclining her head towards the window to consider the road, she had not wanted him to notice.

Lumière tried to hide a smirk as he thought back on how flustered Marc had been upon seeing Bernadette in one of Babette's dresses. His jaw had dropped so low, Lumière was surprised the footman hadn't tripped over it. Though she had been attractive from the start, an upper-crust wardrobe and hairstyle had brought out her high cheekbones, a graceful neck despite her petite stature, and an enticing figure. Lumière was going to attempt to find out how innocent Bernadette really was for Marc's sake, but truthfully, he would have tested her with harmless pokes and prods willingly even without Marc's prompting.

His smile was not sly enough to evade Babette's attention, however, and her impressions of it were far from favorable. Her instinct to protect Bernadette flared, but she knew that until he took any questionable action, she could not say a word to stop him. Only definitive proof could keep him from denying any accusations she made.

The carriage pulled into the roundabout at the foot of the Tuileries Gardens. The tree-lined lane led to the front of the palace's strikingly sophisticated façade a half mile away, as it was clearly intended. Such was the genius and artistry of the day's landscape architects, of which they—notably the ladies—could not wait to admire.

As they came to a stop, Lumière did his duty of assisting both women from the carriage. He thought Babette would deny him the courtesy, but she defied expectation and took his hand to step down onto the sidewalk.

Once again, the familiarity in the softness of her palms struck him, causing his hold to linger. The alluring notion of kissing them, trailing his lips along her arm to graze on her neck, pierced through his barriers so acutely, he retracted his hand as though he had been stung. Whether Babette had noticed or not, she gave no indication, but to ward off the unwelcome image besides, Lumière went to offer Nicolas the same service with all the seriousness of a court jester.

"Oh, _ma charmante mademoiselle—mon cœur!"_ Lumière entreated in marvelously absurd dramatics. "I ardently hope you would never assume I had forgotten you. That I could ever be capable of such disregard, especially when it comes to you, would be as damnable as murder!"

Nicolas eyed him coldly for a moment before suddenly jutting his nose into the air, puffing out his chest as he deftly took Lumière's hand and replied bitterly in a posh accent, "How fortunate for us to agree on _something_."

His friend didn't even make it to the pavement before Lumière broke character from hearty laughter. Nicolas returned to his original, masculine posture before clapping the maître d' on the shoulder, grinning at having clearly given a better response than Lumière had anticipated.

"Where would you like for me to wait for you, monsieur?" Marc inquired from above.

"Outside the courtyard of Tuileries, at around seven-thirty," Nicolas informed. "I think the concert should be done by then. We will try and be prompt."

"There is no need to rush! Take all the time you need," Marc assured with a smile. "Enjoy yourselves!"

He waved to them in farewell, nodding to Bernadette when he caught her eye, before spurring the horses back to the hôtel.

As Mlle de Chantemerle had predicted, they were consequentially split into pairs: Babette took Nicolas' arm, and Lumière offered Bernadette his. While she accepted it, he certainly had detected a slight hesitation, most likely due to modesty.

 _To a girl of her disposition, I must seem rather intimidating,_ he reasoned, taking a deep breath of the freshest air that they would find in the middle of the city. _I can adjust._

The two servants followed the betrothed pair in their promenade, taking to the south side of the gardens first. As they walked, other well-dressed bourgeoisie passed them, having had similar ideas for a beautiful Sunday afternoon.

Like that morning, the sky was as clear as crystal save for the feeblest of clouds. With no breaks from the sun, many couples and groups sat beneath trimmed trees off of the paths, leaning on the wiry trunks as they lounged on the lawn, chatting and trading gossip.

Arranged in symmetric patterns were skillfully trimmed parterres and bushes surrounding artful flowerbeds. These bright-colored blooms were placed so precisely, not a spot of soil could be seen underneath them.

"So, mademoiselle," he began casually to Bernadette, "are you admiring the gardens, or perhaps imagining how you might improve on them?"

Having been involved in their environment, Bernadette faced him at his address and hummed a couple laughs. "Oh non, I would not dare try to improve them. I am in no place to criticize. But truly, what is there to fix? I think it radiant!"

" _C'est vrai_ ," he concurred amiably. "Have you experienced many others?"

She shook her head, visibly disappointed. "Unfortunately, I have not. At least none so grand as this one. But," she added, her eyes lighting up at the thought, "my mistresses have their own back in La Clayette."

At this new information, Lumière raised his eyebrows. "Do they?" He couldn't recall, but perhaps he had heard Babette speak of it very briefly last winter.

"They do!" she confirmed, her rosebud mouth turning into a smile. "It is not quite so large, as I am sure you have guessed, but it is still beautiful at any angle you view it. Even from above!"

He mirrored her affable expression. "I will take you at your word. I hope in due time I may be privileged enough to see it for myself."

She glanced for a moment ahead at Nicolas and Babette before she shrugged. "I believe it inevitable you will."

"Words of such certainty," he keenly observed, "yet your demeanor gives away your doubt."

"Well… You are on holiday for three weeks, oui?"

"At most, yes."

"Then I imagine you and M. de Créquy will be invited over to le Château de la Clayette after we return. My—" Bernadette stopped herself and watched her mistress again, pursing her mouth. "I am sorry… I may be saying too much."

His curiosity was piqued, but he wisely stifled it. Instead, with a knowing smirk, he said, "That is one habit we seem to have in common."

"Really?" she asked, her widened eyes revealing her curiosity. "I have not gotten that impression. You seem… very well-spoken."

He flashed a genuine grin in her direction. "And you are very generous. In fact… I cannot recall a time when I have been complimented on my speech."

"Perhaps it depends on what you have used it for."

Lumière blinked, pleasantly surprised. "A shrewd suggestion, mademoiselle!" He considered it for a few seconds before admitting, rather impressed, "I believe you are right. I may be articulate, but when it comes to how I direct it, my judgement is rather poor."

She gazed at him as he regarded the palace through the gardens' trees. "Good judgement comes with time, at least from my experience."

"From what I can gather," he said, meeting her eye with a charming smile, "I would guess it did not take you very long then."

Bernadette reflexively laughed a bell-like trill. Color rose in her face even through the pale of her powder. "Oh, that is far from the truth! I may have the best of intentions, but that does not mean I always have good judgement."

Her response struck him mute, ringing through his mind with truth. After a pause, he sighed and murmured, "As of now, I have yet to hear words I agree with so completely."

He felt the maid give him a sideways glance full of inquiry, but when he did not explain, they drifted into silence.

The foursome climbed the southwest stairs leading toward the river. From the higher levels, the views became even more enthralling. On their left was the expanse of Tuileries with the north side of Paris as its background, while to their right was the sight of trading barges sailing under Pont Royal on the glistening Seine. They had to come to a stop to properly admire it all, but not for too long. With the sun beating down on them, and the refreshing breezes too occasional, Babette was soon putting the fan on her wrist to use. They moved to plentiful shade underneath the first trees they came across back on the ground level.

Babette welcomed the chance to lean on a tree's trunk, out-of-breath but doing her best not to make it obvious. She opened her fan again with effortless flair and waved it under her chin. "Would it be insolent of me if I asked why in _le nom de Dieu_ we agree to wear so many layers in such gorgeous weather?"

Nicolas and Bernadette laughed as Lumière merely smiled to himself, his back more to them as he looked out to the rest of the gardens yet to be explored.

"I do mean it as a serious question," Babette clarified, though she grinned at their reactions.

"I'm not sure, _chérie_ ," Nicolas replied. "Why don't we find the people who dictated this be so and beat that very question over their heads?"

"I like this plan!" Babette said with teasing fervor. "And how convenient! I imagine those very persons are here in Paris."

She took a shallow yet dignified breath, maintaining a nonchalance despite the flurry at her breast that was her fan.

Nicolas reached into the inside of his coat and pulled out a hip flask, offering it to his fiancée with a knowing grin. "Would you like something to drink?"

Babette beamed at him in awe as she accepted it. "What is this?"

"A dessert wine," Nicolas simply said, adding with a shrug, "Just in case."

She took three gulps in one swig, lowering it with a look of pure relief. "Oh, _délicieux!_ Merci beaucoup, Nicolas."

"You're welcome." The viscount took his flask back, but not without closing one eye and taking a peek inside it with the other.

Babette playfully pushed him on his arm. "I did _not_ drink it all!"

"No, you did not," he admitted. "Indeed, I believe you left _just_ enough to make one exact spoonful." He held it out to the maid as Babette pouted to hide her smile. "Bernadette, would you like to do the honors?"

"Non merci," she politely declined. "It will go straight to my senses if I do."

"Only drink with a meal?"

Bernadette meekly nodded.

"They would have some food laid out before the concert, oui? It might be early, but perhaps we can make our way to the palace and see for certain," Babette suggested.

"Or," Lumière proposed as he faced the rest of them, "you can allow me to grab a little something to tide you over until we have a proper meal." He referred to Nicolas. "Shall I?"

He felt Babette's critical eyes on him, but he did his best to block her out. Even if he hadn't been trying to soften her, he would have offered, but he was sure she must be assuming it was for her benefit.

Nicolas seemed to favor the idea. "How long will you be?"

"Not long at all." The maître d' gripped his friend's shoulder and smirked. "Guard these ladies well until I return."

"By the air I breathe," Nicolas promised in kind.

Babette watched Lumière head towards the entrance with purposeful strides. She would have thought he would take any and all opportunities to make sure she and Nicolas were not alone as often as was possible. Why would he willingly be letting them be?

 _He may be wanting to leave in me a false sense of security,_ she reasoned. It had happened before at le Château du Lac, when he had tried to cause her disinterested façade to crack. Since his efforts had backfired on both of them, one would think he would have learned from his failures, especially when he was using similar methods on the same person. Babette knew he was smarter than that.

As she continued to stare off in thought, idly keeping her fan going, Nicolas shrugged off his coat.

"Here," he motioned after laying his coat against the tree she leaned on. "Have a seat."

Babette bestowed on him that look of hers that read sheer wonder at such a gesture, like he had just presented her with an unexpected gift. At times, he would be tempted to laugh at how astonished she would seem when he was simply being a gentleman, something that was an innate habit to him, but he came to realize that she reacted the way she did _because_ he was so naturally a gentleman. It was a shame how rare true gentlemen really were, if that was the case, but despite that, a nervous excitement would tickle his insides at this reaction from her, and he reveled in it.

Taking her hand, Nicolas helped Babette lower herself to the ground. Her skirt remained in an ellipse around her as the hoops of her skirt's boning collapsed on themselves, but she shifted them so he could join her. She glanced back at him as he sat beside her, and a singular feeling of admiration flooded her.

The fluttering in her stomach arose, along with a strange yet all-too-familiar romantic impulse, and Babette had to turn away as a spark of fear unsettled her. She looked to Bernadette leaning on a tree opposite them instead.

Nicolas followed her gaze, saying guiltily to the maid, "I am sorry I do not have another coat to offer you, mademoiselle."

Bernadette waved a hand in assurance. "Non, non! Do not fret. I have since grown accustomed to being on my feet for long periods. I am perfectly comfortable."

Babette watched her suspiciously, but found her friend was truly as content as she said; her eyes were gratefully drinking in their pleasant surroundings. With her shoulders back and neck extended, she really did look like a lady.

"Babette," Nicolas prompted, and she returned her attention to him. "When did you say was your last trip to Paris?"

"Oh, _Dieu_ ," she sighed with a shake of her head as she trudged through her memory. "Years! At least not since I was four and ten. And from what I recall, there was no sightseeing involved. I'm sure I would have remembered if we had. They had all been… dull business trips."

Nicolas laughed at her sneer. "That's certainly unfortunate. I can understand why you were so eager to come."

She politely smiled, the fluttering in her gut morphing into a cringe. With a nod, she said, "Thank you for indulging me—us," she corrected, referring to Bernadette.

"Oui! Merci, monsieur," the maid offered with a tiny habitual curtsey.

"Of course! I am already glad to have agreed to your companies." Nicolas leaned against the tree trunk behind him, stretched out his legs, and crossed his arms. "I just hope none of it disappoints."

Babette gave a wry smile. "I can scarcely imagine any disappointment occurring under your patronage, monsieur."

"Perhaps you should give it another day or two."

Babette giggled, reflecting his dimpled grin. She then rested her back on their tree as well, making sure their shoulders were touching. He took no visible notice of this, but she could feel him adjust to counter the slight weight she was pressing on him.

They mutually enjoyed their people-watching, occasionally pointing out the rather beautiful or ridiculously dressed passer-by before, amongst the strolling throngs, a figure in a light blue coat and distinct gold vest emerged.

As Lumière neared their circle, he pulled out some spheres from his bulging pockets until he had three in hand. With a cavalier grin, he began to toss them expertly into the air like street entertainer. " _Un l'en-cas_ as you requested!" he announced before pitching one of the balls to Nicolas.

Babette blinked as she glanced at it. "Oranges?"

"Plucked fresh from the tree," the maître d' concurred, lightly tossing her one from behind his back, which she caught easily.

He then offered the last orange in his hand to Bernadette as Nicolas asked, "Where did you get these?"

Lumière shrugged. "I noticed an orangery as soon as we set foot in the gardens."

Babette arched a brow as Nicolas spoke aloud her thoughts. "So you stole them."

"Only what they would not miss," Lumière reasoned, removing his own snack from his pocket. As Nicolas sighed, he teased, "Do not groan at the hand that feeds, _mon ami._ A 'merci' will more than suffice."

"Fine, fine," the viscount conceded with a smirk, prying open his orange. "Since you went to such lengths…"

Emptying out his pockets with two more oranges, Lumière removed his coat and laid it next to Bernadette. "Mademoiselle?" he gestured implicitly. With a blushing smile, the maid took his extended hand, and right before he lowered her to the ground, he leaned in to whisper, "He learned to do this from _me_."

He grinned at her giggle, taking a seat next to her against the tree, and Babette's eyes narrowed at them before she cast her eyes down to the orange in her hands. Hunger gnawed slightly at her stomach, and she willingly dug into the fruit.

As Bernadette pried her first slice, she inquired to Lumière, "When did you learn to juggle?"

Amused by her question, he beamed at her. "I had plenty of time on my hands before my current occupation."

"In other words, he was easily bored," Nicolas interjected after swallowing a bite of his orange.

"No thanks to you! You were too easy to work for."

"I could have kept you busy if I had felt so inclined!"

"Instead, it was the other way around," Lumière murmured mischievously to Bernadette, who covered her mouth to hide her smile as she chewed.

After a pause, she inquired, "How long have you worked under King Vincent?"

He had to smile at the maid's curiosity. "Over four years. And you, for the Chantemerle?"

She laughed. "A very long time. Since I was eight-years-old."

"So… hardly a decade then."

Smiling at his compliment, she shook her head. "Non. I turned twenty-two-years almost a month ago."

"The prime of your life has only begun."

"That is what I believe, too!" As quickly as she had perked up in agreement, she slumped slightly as she plucked another slice of orange. "But, unfortunately, there are others who beg to differ."

Lumière leaned in, his tone encouraging. "Do not ever let them sway you. I didn't, and look how well I turned out!" He spread his arms impressively, and Bernadette giggled. "In fact, look to M. de Créquy!"

Suspicious, Nicolas glanced up from speaking with Babette. "What about me?"

"You never let your parents or relatives persuade you to marry merely for connections. No less than love would do," Lumière announced admirably.

Babette looked up from her fruit to watch her fiancé. Even _she_ hadn't heard of this.

Bernadette's eyes widened. "Is that true?"

Nicolas eyed Lumière, whom raised an eyebrow expectantly at him while wearing a sly smirk, before nodding. "It is."

The maid's grin grew to glow at the betrothed couple, like she had finally seen some honest good in the world, before she tried to stifle her excitement in the finishing of her snack.

Babette wished she could feel as assured, but Nicolas' history had now come into question.

Of course, she wasn't concerned about his lack of faith. No, not at all! It was his abstinence in faith that gave her pause, such as: Was this the first real courtship he had decided to undertake? For someone who followed his heart as Nicolas did, was he absolutely sure that _she_ was the one?

Stunned, Babette's gaze went to Lumière, whose fading grin seemed to give way to his creeping doubt in having brought up the subject. His eyes passed over her, but he swiftly returned his attentions to Bernadette. They seemed to be getting along swimmingly, just as she had assured her maid.

Though she was trying to smother it, a bitterness kept her from feeling relieved at how comfortable Bernadette appeared with Lumière. Next to her, Nicolas had grown quiet as he tore up what was left of his orange peel into tiny pieces.

She took a deep breath, as deep as she could in that damn dress. _I will not get carried away by my fears_ , she promised herself, and put on a smile to reassure her fiancé.

* * *

 _I hope to have the next chapter out sooner than I've been publishing them recently!  
_


	13. Concert Spirituel

_I've created a Youtube playlist of the concert itself if you wanted to listen along! Since copy and paste doesn't work here, you can go to my YouTube profile, **Carolyn Joy** , and it will be under "Playlists." The link is also located on my profile page._

 ** _EDIT:_** _I realized several months after posting this chapter one of the videos in my YouTube playlist was deleted, and no other recording of that specific Trio Sonata by Mondonville is available on YouTube. If you'd like to listen to it still, a recording is on Spotify. (If you're a student, you should get on that $5 per month deal!) A link to the album is on my profile page. The songs you would need to listen to will be the last four on the album, which are all four movements of No. 6._

 _Translations:_ À l'amour, aux plaisirs… _\- With love, with pleasures, in the grove, use the beautiful days of your age._

* * *

 _Chapter Thirteen: Concert Spirituel_

Though the weather remained glorious, by the time they reached the palace around five o' clock, they all showed signs of fatigue. Inside, other aristocrats and visiting foreigners were milling around the foyer and open parlors nearby, sipping on wine and eating hors d'œuvres. The foursome gratefully took their shares and found a cozy corner of one of the drawing rooms to keep to themselves. Much to their appreciation, the other guests paid them little mind but for the occasional scoff and quizzical eye.

After sating their hunger and thirst for the meantime, they were permitted to take one of the second level boxes, which held four quite comfortably. They took their seats, with the women on the ends and the men between them, but at the sight above and below them, the girls were soon on their feet to lean over the balustrade and glimpse the grandeur of the hall.

The rectangular Salle des Cent Suisses had a hand-painted ceiling of a sky as blue as that very day, with clouds dotting it and cherubs shown floating amongst them. Several crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and gold trim gilded the edges of the hall and green velvet boxes. The heavy curtains were open, and the stage was already set for the orchestra, with chairs arranged in a half-moon around the conductor's stand, a harpsichord in the back, and timpani behind the violins' seats.

Bernadette looked back at Babette, and saw that their excitement was matched.

As Lumière watched them look over the program in their hands, he nudged Nicolas at his left. "How much would you wager they will want to leave at intermission?"

Nicolas snorted. "I think you doubt the sincerity of their enthusiasm."

"Not at all!" the maître d' countered. "I am sure they believe they can withstand over an hour's worth of music. My only doubt is in their resilience."

"Fine," Nicolas agreed with a shrug. "But you will be paying for my next drink."

"What is a drink without a meal to go with it?"

The viscount mirrored Lumière's smirk and shook his hand. "We have a deal."

Soon enough, the musicians were filing onto the stage and taking their places. Chatter still filled the audience as the orchestra went about preparing their instruments, but it was hushed as their tuning reverberated throughout the hall. Two seconds of unmitigated quiet and the conductor walked on to applause. After a bow to his guests and a formal greeting and introduction, he turned to the orchestra. With the swing of his arms, the music began.

"Fanfares" was a very fitting name for the piece, highlighting the horns especially, and what an exciting opening. It put Babette right in the mood. The give-and-take from the conductor and musicians was fascinating to witness, and there was an exchange that would happen between the sections when they would take turns on a motif or episode.

And then it concluded.

It caught her off-guard at first, until after a few seconds, they began again, this time not as full of gusto, but more subdued and refined.

She rolled her eyes at herself. It had truly been several years since she had been to a concert to forget how concertos and suites were organized into movements. It was almost like reading another chapter of a book, or watching the next scene of a play.

Babette let the music wash over her, but once she finally felt herself giving over to it, the movement ended. On some level, she found it disappointing.

Nicolas happened to look over at her as she pouted, and chuckled. "Not to your taste?"

"Non, it is!" she hastily replied. "I had let myself become properly immersed, and then—" As the new movement began, Babette tapped her fan on his thigh as she straightened in her seat. " _Ssh!_ I will tell you later!"

The finale wasn't as grand as she had expected, but it reminded her of the opening. Applause followed as soon as the conductor waved his arm to end the piece. He bowed to them, referred to orchestra, who also bowed in thanks, before singling out the horns, winds, and timpani players. They exited the stage as another man took over the harpsichord, and joined those remaining in another piece.

It was most certainly a different feel than the former. It wasn't as energetic, by far. If there wasn't the semi-frequent sudden forte of the strings, Babette might have been lulled to sleep.

But the next movement was a stark contrast, with much more motion in the melodies, ones that were unique enough from each other to the point where Babette could switch her attention from the violins to the cellos at any time.

Once that ended, the musicians returned to a sluggish pace. Lumière glanced at the program on Bernadette's lap, and sighed. "Largo," indeed. Music this agonizingly slow made him impatient and antsy.

"You must remind me," he whispered to Bernadette, "that if I ever suffer from insomnia to call upon these musicians for assistance."

She bit her lips as a laugh almost breached them. "It _is_ rather relaxing," she admitted.

Nicolas leaned toward Lumière to innocently offer, "I am willing to arrange our deal to include you."

The maître d' smirked. "Nice try."

A pointed cough in their direction made them turn to meet Babette's chastising glare. Arguably wary of receiving her wrath, both men promptly stopped talking.

At least the music's energy soon picked up, so all were more willing to pay attention. The theme from the violins was rather catchy, Lumière had to admit.

Hearing a rhythmic clicking from below him, he glanced down to notice Bernadette's skirt shifting due to her tapping toe.

Bernadette saw him watching her and quickly tucked her foot underneath her seat, a delicate blush blooming on her cheeks. "Sorry," she whispered.

"No, no, please," he murmured back, having to smile at her embarrassment. "Do not become self-conscious on my account."

Though soothed slightly by his reassurance, she still appeared chided. "Well, it is probably not ladylike to react to the music as such, especially in a hall like this."

"What else is music for?" he reasoned. "Besides, you need not be concerned about being a perfect lady in our company. I promise none of us will think of you in any other way."

She grinned before shyly averting her gaze. While she focused again on the stage, he found himself watching her for a moment more, musing on the fact that he just might be on the losing side of a bet.

Clapping ensued at the trio sonata's conclusion with Babette's being quite enthusiastic. " _Magnifique!_ " she uttered. "Each movement was so accurate in their portrayal of the emotions and—and _colors_ —" She looked to Nicolas to check, "Would it be correct to say 'colors?'"

Chuckling at her passion, Nicolas shrugged. "That sounds right to me."

Babette beamed at him and contentedly sighed. "Sheer brilliance!"

Two players with a theorbo and viola de gamba in their hands respectively arranged themselves in the space on stage now devoid of the conductor's box. Then a pretty young woman in a cornflower blue gown with a ruffled bodice and delicate lace cuffs graced them with her presence. Combined with her floating walk and graceful posture, a demureness about her face and expression instigated an almost instant liking for her. As she went to stand between the musicians, she smiled and acknowledged the audience and their polite applause.

With brow furrowed in thought, Lumière elbowed his friend.

Because of his intense attention on the singer as well, Nicolas flinched at the prod. "What?"

Still watching the soprano as the accompaniment began, the maître d' inquired, "Does she look familiar to you?"

"You too?"

They met each other's eyes, both silently hoping this coincidence wasn't for what they were thinking. Bernadette managed to reduce her impending giggle at the exchange into a short tuneful hum, but Babette was trying to ignore them as the woman began to sing two-hundred-year-old poetry of the best kind in a soaring, sweet, and clear tone.

" _À l'amour, aux plaisirs, au bocage,"_ she reminded the crowd, _"employez les beaux jours de votre àge…"_

" _Ah-ha!_ " Lumière loudly whispered, snapping his fingers. "It was from that opera we saw only for a moment, before… You remember."

He gave Nicolas a knowing glance that Babette managed to catch because of a glare she was attempting to pierce him with, but her irritation faded when it struck her what he implied. She blurted, "You mean—"

She immediately clutched at her mouth to silence it when Lumière shot her a look, but this only made Nicolas curiously follow his gaze.

It was the _La Fleur Noire_ trip a few years prior—she was sure of it—but that was the one story Lumière had told her that Nicolas had never repeated. In this elaborate scenario Lumière's visit had conjured, she was not supposed to have a clue about it.

Clearing her throat, she corrected herself, "You mean this…" She glanced at the program to check. "Marie Fel? She performs in opera as well?"

With a humored grimace, Nicolas replied, "Apparently. Strange… That is not where my mind went at first."

Lumière laughed, his thoughts clearly having traveled a similar vein, and he relaxed again in his chair.

Babette took a discreet breath of relief at her swift recovery, and wondered for a moment what Lumière would have done to salvage the slip if she hadn't. As much as her feelings were bitter in regards to him, she can't imagine he would have let her suffer for that.

With a sidelong glance at Nicolas, she had half-expected him to explain why on his own, at least to say that he had left that particular opera early to wander town, or the like… but he hadn't. Would it be noted by him if she _didn't_ ask him why? If she did, then she knew she would be putting him on the spot of something acutely uncomfortable for him to mention. She could picture him getting flustered as he tried to dance around the fact that he had gone to a house of ill repute that night and fallen head-over-heels for a cabaret girl.

She pursed her lips and faced forward. Prudently, she decided to keep quiet.

The next song of Mlle Fel's became melancholic, with trembling trills that dotted her phrasing. It was lovely, but it was not the mood Babette had been hoping for. She understood the importance of making sure opposites followed each other for contrast, whether be fast to slow or happy to sad, but that did not mean that strategy suited everyone. Babette would much rather listen to more optimistic tunes than otherwise. Of that, she was certain.

"All right, now I _really_ have to know."

Babette jumped at Nicolas' statement and turned to see him wearing that boyish grin of his. "With your mouth in such a tight pout, something must be amiss," he said.

She tried to erase her expression of all strain as she cleverly teased, "Perhaps I was trying to recall having seen this singer before as well. She and I may have even met each other in passing!"

He hesitated only for a second as he discerned her to be joking. "If you have, I beg of you not to make introductions. Or at least forget to mention both of us had abandoned her operatic debut for… the Parisian streets."

At a slight rise in pitch and brief break in eye contact, he certainly proved to Babette his well-concealed discomfort on the subject. She patted his hand and assured, "I am sure even _she_ could understand how claustrophobic an opera house can feel."

He nodded both in agreement and approval, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Yes, precisely," he said while fitting his hand into hers. "Especially at a premiere!"

A smile grew on her lips. "Let me guess… That was your mother's idea?"

"And we all did our best to humor her," he admitted with a remorseful expression that Babette hummed giggles at. "But my father had fallen asleep before we even left the theatre… My mother was so peeved with us afterwards, she deemed us unfit to escort our own senses!"

He joined her in laughing at the memory, but both covered their mouths when they realized that no music was playing, which only renewed their mirth due to such unfortunate timing.

Lumière eyed them with a mixture of annoyance, resentment, and mild amusement, especially since Nicolas was now the one between them lacking in decorum because of a woman's company. There was no contest on which position he preferred to be in, but despite his chagrin, it was refreshing to see his friend without a care for once.

Almost to follow Nicolas' uncharacteristic behavior, Mlle Fel went on to explain that her next aria is for an upcoming opera where she is to play _La Folie_ , the spirit of madness. With the orchestra having returned, she snapped right into character at the first chord struck by the cellos. As soon as the strings went into a galloping motive, the elegant soprano became very energetic and carefree, convincingly laughing where it fit the music. She managed to even get the audience laughing because her character found the tragic romance of Apollo and Daphne so delightfully funny.

After the thunderous applause through the hall died out, Nicolas said to Lumière, "I am relieved we are not the only ones who find that myth humorous."

"I always believed that was its intention! The idea of a woman so desperate to get away from a _god_ that she begs to become a _tree?"_ Chuckling, he answered himself, "I would find it much more difficult to take that kind of fable seriously. And what makes it laughable is that the concept is not entirely far-fetched." He turned to Bernadette to confirm, "Mademoiselle, am I correct in assuming so?"

"I could not tell you. Thankfully, I have never been placed in a situation of that kind," she answered truthfully, though she grinned at his playful smirk.

"Whether or not the myth itself is funny," Babette sharply intervened, "I found that it was her portrayal that made it so. She was charming! And to have such agility in that high of range… I only wish I could have even a crumb of her talent," she muttered wistfully.

However, her words were not quiet enough to escape other's ears; Bernadette craned against the back of her seat until Mlle Chantemerle was in her sights. "Mistress, if I hear you bemoan any more lack of talent, I will wait and watch to volunteer you in front of company so you cannot refuse to perform for them!"

Babette's jaw dropped, stunned at her maid's sudden courage. Though there was teasing in her expression, Bernadette was clearly miffed, and that only baffled the vicomtesse further.

One of the boys broke the silence with a low impressed whistle, which made them all laugh.

After recovering from her awe, Babette replied, "Bernadette, do you really mean what you say?"

Her maid raised her chin. "You are welcome to test me, my lady."

Lumière cocked an eyebrow, watching her with a newfound respect while trying to hide a smile behind the hand his chin rested on. _The girl has spirit!_

"Best not disparage yourself in front of her, _chérie…_ or me for that matter," Nicolas added with a mischievous glint in his eye. Babette pierced him with a glare, but to his credit, he didn't shirk. He gently argued, "She means well to make such a threat."

Wearing an incredulous grin, she prompted, "Do you hear what you say? Think _carefully,_ monsieur."

Nicolas leaned close to his betrothed, taking her hand to whisper, "I do, and it is clear to me that despite perhaps certain extraordinary skills in music, we both believe you are still a marvel to behold."

It might have been the sincerity in which he had spoken, or the tenderness in his eyes that held her fast, but Babette found both grated against her guilt-ridden conscience.

She took her hand from his grasp and eyes from his person. "Please, Nicolas, this is not the time and place for that."

He was silent as she adamantly stared at the stage, watching the musicians enter and reclaim their instruments. Though she refused to look at him again as a trio, including a female flautist, prepped to perform, she could feel the gears of his mind turning rapidly to figure out what he had done wrong. She felt awful, as this was not the first time she had subjected him to his own self-doubt, but she had to focus on undoing the knots that had suddenly fastened in her stomach.

Thankfully, the players began their sonata with the flautist at the forefront. Not only was the music elegant in its melodies and tempi, Babette found herself soothed by watching how invested each was in the music, especially the flautist, who subtly rocked to-and-fro with her own phrases. There was even an enigmatic air to the tunes that they played, which kept her intrigued.

While he didn't _dislike_ the current music, Lumière, on the other hand, was finding it hard to concentrate on it. Though Babette had sincerely been trying to whisper, they were apparently in a circumstance where everything between them could be overheard; He very much wished that wasn't the case. What could have prompted such a curt rebuffing of poor Nicolas? They got on so well, he hadn't yet conceived there could be any kind of conflicts between them.

 _Something else is at work_ , he discerned. _Something that Nicolas does not seem to be aware of… but Bernadette might._

He made a mental note to inquire her about it later—with as much discretion as possible, of course.

For the first time that evening, the four of them had nothing to add when it came time to applaud, despite how the tension had lessened ever slightly. Inadvertently, Lumière and Bernadette exchanged mutually uneasy glances.

As the trio departed, a new gentleman made his way to the harpsichord. At his entrance, there was some more applause, but Babette didn't know why.

Reflexively, she asked, "Who is that?"

Nicolas shrugged. "He must be revered here in town."

Babette watched her betrothed for a moment. His tone was casual, though dulled, like it normally was when he became withdrawn due to discomfort, but again, he did not seem to hold anything against her. She almost wished he would, for it only made her feel worse otherwise.

Respectably dressed in dark colors, the gentleman—a Jacques Duphly, according to the program—acknowledged the applause with grace and took his seat on the instrument's bench. Curiously, to Babette at least, he solemnly bowed his head, gaining focus before lifting his hands carefully to rest on the ebony keys. With a breath, he lunged into his songs. Like Marie Fel, he was perfectly memorized, and he was all the better for it. He had such fine posture, and his fingers seemed to caress every key underneath them, especially in his ornamentations, yet there was an underlying passion that conveyed the character of each piece.

When he completed a song, his hands floated away from the keys and descended lightly to his lap before repeating his process.

Being only an amateur, Lumière observed aspects of M. Duphly's technique for his own use, greatly admiring the harpsichordist's skill, but he soon noted he was not the only one: Next to him, Bernadette leaned eagerly forward on the edge of her seat, visibly enraptured.

At the immediate onset of clapping from the audience, Bernadette faced Lumière in wonder. "Had you seen his fingers move? Such delicacy! It is almost…" She pondered on what word could possibly befit it before choosing with a smile, "Exotic."

He nodded to agree, a mischievous sparkle in his eye as he remarked, "I wonder if other bodies have played so well under his touch."

His grin only widened as her eyebrows shot up. " _Bodies?"_

Becoming an ideal of composure, he replied, "Oui. Of instruments. What else could I have been referring to?"

She responded with a keen look that spoke volumes, which caused them both to laugh, but her eyes soon went to her lap and her cheeks regained that pinkish glow.

Warmly, he requited, "I apologize. I shall keep such crude jokes to myself from now on."

Bernadette thoughtfully watched M. Duphly return a second time to receive the ongoing applause before she softly said, "I wouldn't mind."

He turned to her, quirking a brow. "Wouldn't mind…?"

With a dainty shrug of her shoulders, she replied, "Being the instrument if he is the player."

She had spoken in such a factual tone that Lumière found himself stunned at such an answer coming from her lips, which quickly took on a sly smile.

 _Either she adapts marvelously well to present company, or she has a side of her not so easily seen,_ he discerned. No matter which, she was far exceeding his expectations.

Having to chuckle, he likewise said, "Mademoiselle, I have no doubt that upon encountering you, the roles would be reversed."

With a flattered huff, she dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Now you are being silly!"

Lumière latticed his fingers as he scrutinized her. "Quite the contrary. When it comes to such matters, I never exaggerate."

At the change of gravity in his tone, Bernadette chose not to reply, but to Lumière, she appeared to maintain her reservations. Of those, he became adamant in altering for her benefit, and he was sure Marc would eagerly assist.

Another round of applause erupted as a tall, broad-boned woman took the stage. She looked well in her thirties, with a confidence and bearing that could not be faked had she not the experience to back them. Based on her reception, she was well-renowned.

The woman, it turned out, was Vittoria Tesi, a highly distinguished actress and contralto from Florence.

"A contralto?" Babette read aloud. "Is that her… voice type?"

"Oui, it is," Nicolas replied, seemingly back to his old self. "A contralto sings lower than a soprano."

Her interest piqued, Babette turned with wide, curious eyes to the intimidating _signora_ now poised to begin.

Two recorders led the orchestra in a fluttering melody, and Tesi's expression softened as she let it wash over her. When she opened her mouth, such richness in tone, full of sincerity and sadness, captured everyone's ear. Her beautifully held notes and melismas were entrancing, especially when, during the repeat, they trembled so delicately through the hall. It brought tears to Babette's eyes that she somehow couldn't prevent. Upon wiping at them, she was astonished at how this Italian singer had enveloped Babette in her own world from the stage just by the music and her expression alone. Save for some possible cognates, she had not understood a word Tesi had sung. But apparently, she hadn't needed to.

Applause was happily given by all, and it was humbly received by _la signora_ , who then, when the crowd quieted, said in perfect French the two arias she was performing were dedicated to a friend and colleague, whom she would always recognize as a talent without parallel, whether he was "in fashion or not."

Babette mimicked Signora Tesi's indignation. On whose authority could music be determined unfashionable? If this… "Vivaldi" had written other pieces of this caliber, why would a respectable person who called themselves a connoisseur refuse to listen to him? Out of spite?

The chorus of horns called her from her contemplation, and she immediately became eager to hear more of this contralto's voice.

Due to her avid focus, she remained unaware that Lumière had seen her emotional reactions to the aria rather easily. When she paid no heed to if others were watching, she could look so endearing! He couldn't help but smile. If only she could regularly be so open with her feelings. If only—

He made sure to avert his eyes in the case that any of them _did_ notice, and followed their gazes to the stage. Surely, this music was energetic and engaging enough to drown out even the most hypothetical of scenarios, though his "ifs" still wanted to persist.

Luckily, he was swiftly appeased. Such a ferocity and anticipation filled _la_ _signora's_ countenance as she persisted through incredible leaps and scales with startling quickness, her scarlet bodice visibly rising and falling as she took lung-filling breaths between phrases. Her range was extraordinary; notes high and low were so strong and solid that she seemed to challenge the horns that echoed her. The four of them were held fixed at this marvelous display of musicianship until that final cadence from the orchestra rang throughout the hall.

To no one's surprise, Signora Tesi was made to return for bows four times before the crowd finally began to disperse.

As the sounds of chatter returned, Nicolas stood to stretch. "Well, _mon ami_ ," he said to Lumière with a mocking kind of nonchalance. "It would appear that in judgement and keen observation, I've finally managed to best you."

"It does my heart good to see you receive your victory so humbly," Lumière countered in a similar way.

Nicolas bore an innocence betraying his delight at being able to say, "I am only following your example."

Lumière narrowed his eyes teasingly at Nicolas' grin before they both attended to their ladies like proper escorts.

The viscount was silent for a moment until he politely prompted Babette with, "Have you any thoughts to share on the concert? You seem to have many."

Clutching the program still in her hand to her chest, Babette sighed. "I have not yet found the words to articulate what I think, but I can at least assure you they are all very much in its favor."

Nicolas smiled at her honesty. "I'm overjoyed to hear it."

She peeked rather demurely up at him as she reciprocated. "I hope… that you also enjoyed yourself. I know I gave little room for a change of mind when I suggested coming here."

Again, her willingness to see him content warmed his heart. "I could not imagine trying to persuade you out of it. Anyway, it was a wonderful idea. It certainly taught a certain someone not to underestimate you ladies again," he added with a sly glance behind him.

"I have thoroughly learned my lesson," Lumière admitted with an obliging incline of his head. "We have acquired the company of ladies with fine tastes, much finer than you or I can willingly admit to having ourselves."

He partly spoke while eyeing Bernadette on his arm, whose secret smile now seemed perpetual.

"M. Lumière, if you insist on bestowing such superfluous compliments on me—"

"Then what, _ma chère_ mademoiselle?" Lumière challenged with delight. "Will you endow on me a similar reprimand as what you gave your poor mistress?"

Bernadette's mouth stood silently open before she was able to utter, "Perhaps… Perhaps I might!"

"Well, since you have not ascertained this for yourself, know that what may seem 'superfluous' comes from a _very_ sincere place," he emphasized with the placement of a palm over his heart. "My exertions only stem from the purest feeling, which, as you must already understand, is not easily controlled or stifled."

"You speak too eloquently to not have some thought arrange your words."

"Ah, but my words flow freely, as naturally as water. Years of practice, _chérie_ , is all that permits me to speak 'eloquently,' as you say," he explained while taking pleasure in the word. "So please, allow me to give praise when I feel it is deserved, and trust that it is founded in a most honest opinion. I would never wish to deceive."

She delicately pursed her lips before replying with regret, "Do not think I distrust what you say, but I would prefer to have your actions prove your words true."

To her relief, he took no offense but commended, "That is a fair and prudent decision, mademoiselle, and I will respect it."

Having been separated by the departing crowd, they did not reunite with Babette and Nicolas until they had exited the building onto the court lined with carriages. Mlle de Chantemerle was on the lookout for Marc perched on one of them, and did not turn when Nicolas acknowledged their approach.

When Bernadette took to Babette's side, Nicolas gave his friend a look that couldn't be more obvious with implication unless he had fluttered his brow. Lumière denied Nicolas' hopes with a shake of his head full of dismissal. The viscount managed an undeterred shrug of his shoulders before spotting their respectable carriage poking through the dense mass of fidgety horses and elaborate coaches fit for the greatest of egos.

* * *

Despite how surprisingly pleasant the day had eventually become, all were of little words upon their return to the hôtel, but only due to exhaustion. The girls asked that some food to nibble on be brought to their rooms before turning in, and Lumière himself snagged a crust of bread from the kitchen before following Nicolas to their rooms. In between bites, he began to undress, but in the process of changing out of his trousers, a few knocks interrupted the peace.

"Lumière? Do you have a moment?"

The maître d' sighed through the last bit of chewing before snatching up his recently disposed tunic. He should not have expected any less.

Marc's eagerness was visible at the first crack of his chamber door.

Leaning against its frame, Lumière inquired, "Can this not wait until tomorrow?"

The footman's place was checked. Abashed, his eyes dropped to the floor as he retreated a step. "My apologies. Clearly, my… curiosity is much too indulged. It must have been the long hours of your absences." He inclined his head and gave a hasty bow. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you."

At Marc's slumped shoulders, a pang of sympathy rang through Lumière's frame. He sighed as he knocked his forehead gently on the doorframe.

As the footman made it to the stairs, the maître d' stage-whispered, " _Marc!_ "

He spun around with poorly concealed hope, and Lumière opened his door wider, gesturing for him to enter.

The footman skidded through his threshold, and before his questions could ensue, Lumière shut the door and said firmly, but not meanly, "We are keeping this _brief_."

Marc, though he pursed his lips, nodded in agreement. "Of course. I can see you are tired."

After taking a seat on the edge of the bed, his eyes became eager and his feet began tapping excitedly. "So… what is she like? Anything contrary in her character to what I have described?"

Lumière shook his head as a corner of his mouth lifted. "Not from a day's observations, at least. She… well, she impressed me several times today. She is rather intuitive, yet still naïve, which would be suspicious if her words and expression did not ring with such sincerity." He huffed a laugh at as he thought back. "She even has a wit of her own!"

Marc crossed his arms as a satisfied grin grew on his face. "Look how the cynic is now!"

Rolling his eyes, Lumière tried to hide his own smile. "Oh, my cross-examination is far from over. Simply being a charming creature will not do away my doubt."

Marc seemed to be waiting for more. "But… did you enjoy your time with her?"

Lumière quirked a puzzled eyebrow before replying genuinely, "Very much! What else would my calling her 'a charming creature' imply?"

Baffled, the footman spread his hands. "Then what else could there be? It is obvious she is not deceitful!"

The wiser servant corrected with a finger, "As far as we know."

Marc heaved a tired sigh. "What do you mean, Lumière?"

"I have not earned enough of her trust to delve into previous love affairs."

Marc furrowed his brow at the maître d's matter-of-fact tone. "Is that really necessary?"

"If you do not want a broken heart, _mon ami_ , I would say it is the most vital piece of information we can obtain!"

"And knowing about the…" Marc hesitated as he grimaced uncomfortably at the thought. "… other messieurs she has been with will determine that?"

Though sympathetic to Marc's feelings, Lumière affirmed, "I know no better way; it has served me well too many times to count. Not to mention, the topic never fails to break suitable ground in a budding relationship." Stifling the painful truth of that statement to the back of his mind, he comradely patted the footman's shoulder. "Trust me, Marc. If you are as infatuated with this girl as you appear, that kind of information will be invaluable to you."

Lumière then opened his door, and Marc understood his cue. With a thoughtful line in his forehead, he stepped out of the room, but quickly faced the maître d' with quiet determination.

"I plan to speak to her myself tomorrow morning before you leave."

"As you should!" Lumière consented wholeheartedly. "I could see soon enough why one conversation had you so enamored."

Marc smiled, having taken up a petite, angelic visage in his mind's eye. He blinked it away temporarily to acknowledge, "Merci for it all, Lumière."

"Of course! _Merci à toi_ for such a delightful endeavor!" he replied with a broad grin. " _Bonne nuit_."

Lumière began to close his door, but then called after him in a low voice, "When you think of it… I recommend asking her about what she thinks of keyboard players."

Blinking at the odd suggestion, Marc looked about to ask why, but found his inquiry answered upon seeing Lumière's mischievous smirk, who added, "You will enjoy her unique perspective!"

Not knowing how else to respond, Marc nodded his understanding, however vague, and continued to bed. Lumière chuckled to himself as he did the same.

* * *

 _If you clicked on the link to my playlist and listened to the music, then I hope you felt like you were experiencing the concert with the characters. As a music major, it was fun for me to delve into more obscure Baroque music I hadn't studied during my music history course!  
_

 _I understand, though, if the music was not to your taste - in other words, "if it's Baroque, DO fix it!" - and that's fine! I tried to pick pieces that were more or less tolerable or even enjoyable to the ear, so let me know if I succeeded. I'd be curious to hear your thoughts on the music itself!_

 _Though my summer is supposed to be busy, it's not meant to be so incredibly hectic that I don't look at this story for weeks at a time, like this past semester. I_ am _making_ _a movie and preparing for my senior recital, but hopefully_ _I can publish updates more quickly... Fingers crossed!_


	14. On the Town

_Chapter Fourteen: On the Town_

 _Ding… Ding… Ding…_

Babette angled her ear towards the bedroom door. She counted seven "dings" from the clock in the hall, not that she necessarily needed to know. She had been awake for almost a half hour, patiently waiting in an armchair by the window for the sun to rise over the city.

Leaning her forehead gently against the cool glass, she saw that citizens were finally starting to create traffic on the street below. It still boggled her mind that she was waking up so consistently at dawn alongside the servants and apprentices, even when her mind and heart were so weary from the day before that she confused them for real, physical aches.

To be fair, it had been a very long time prior to her employment as a maid since she had seen a sunrise. They were soothing to watch, even with clouds obscuring some of the view. Not to mention, the world before it peeked above the horizon was so peaceful and quiet. It had even been more so at the château, surrounded by forest and isolated from civilization.

Her sigh briefly fogged up a square of the window before it dissipated. Again came that tiresome sense of longing, and why? For what reason, when the idea of ever going back was not only pointless, but foolish. A daydream—a fantasy was all it was.

Before Babette had been sent to Château du Lac, Bernadette had always woken her up. She used to remain in blissful slumber until her maid would knock on her door. Now there was this waiting—a waiting for the day to begin while her mind ran rampant with what could have been. Most of the time, she would be numb and detached from her thoughts of that period, but not every time. As the thought dwelled, she realized that recently… she was not so numb to them anymore.

 _Knock, knock, knock._

" _Dieu merci!"_ Babette breathed, deflating into her chair with relief before jumping out of it to let Bernadette in.

* * *

An hour or so later, Babette calmly made her way down the stairs to the kitchen, making sure that Bernadette accompanied her. She would not make _that_ mistake again. Her cheeks flushed at the memory of it.

As they reached the dining room, to her surprise, she saw place settings already arranged in her and Bernadette's spots at the table.

Before either of them could make a motion to sit down, Lumière strode out of the kitchen with a pot of coffee in one hand and trays of fresh bread and butter and colorful, sliced fruit balancing expertly on the other arm. Babette tried to stem the sudden flare of tension that coursed through her before it could be noticed.

With the grace of a professional, he began setting the trays on the table and pouring the hot drink into their cups as he greeted with his signature enthusiasm, "Bonjour, mesdemoiselles!"

"Bonjour." "Bonjour, monsieur!" came the ladies' adverse replies.

"How kind of you to have this prepared so early," Bernadette acknowledged with a bright smile.

"Oui," Babette mustered. "It really was not necessary."

"Nonsense," Lumière humbly insisted. "As guests of Nicolas, I consider you guests of mine, and as my guests, no effort will be spared on your behalf." Seeing they made no movement to do so, he instructed, "Please, be seated!"

As Babette hesitated, Bernadette walked over to the chair Lumière held for her, pushing it in like a gentleman as she sat. Bernadette looked as delighted at the attention as before.

Babette began to make way to her seat, but realized that Lumière wasn't heading back to the kitchen. He was offering her chair for her as well.

They made eye contact. Babette initially wanted to look away as she had been doing this entire visit thus far. It had only caused her pain and fury to find his former admiration had turned to cold distrust and sardonic humor. But this was not what she saw, in fact. Instead, there was patient expectancy, along with possibly… understanding?

A corner of his mouth lifted, having to be amused even slightly by her tentativeness. She snapped out of it, feeling silly from her own transparency, and took her seat. She could feel his presence keenly behind her, and his closeness only caused her discomfort to grow.

Bernadette then inquired Lumière, "I hope your early rising means you slept well?"

"Naturally, mademoiselle."

Babette discreetly released her held breath as Lumière, wearing a clever grin, meandered around the table to stand across from them. "The recollection of a particular melody did just the trick."

The maid tittered, and it took Babette a moment to recognize that they were indeed sharing a joke. She decided to spoon fruit onto her plate to hide any sign of what she felt, though it was a confusing concoction that she could not and _did_ not want to discern.

She became invested in her _petit déjeuner_ , though Bernadette tried to prompt some light conversation. Babette knew she would not be comfortable until they were in private again. She ate quickly and headed back upstairs before Bernadette was finished, just for a moment to gather herself before another day's fray.

She was so determined in her course that upon turning a corner of the stair, she bumped right into Nicolas.

With an exclamatory gasp, Babette's first instinct was to grab the nearest support, which in this case would be Nicolas' able biceps. Thankfully, the viscount had the proper reflexes to grab the railing, but in his surprise, he ended up bringing her tightly into an embrace with his other arm.

They looked to each other with alarm, and Nicolas blinked at finding Babette so near him. He loosened his hold, but kept a protective hand at her back to be safe. "Are you all right?"

Her face burned, but her voice remained composed. She likewise took her hands from his person to have one on the railing. "Quite all right, merci." An eyebrow flicked upward. "And you?"

Letting his hand fall to his side, he smiled down at her. "Unharmed, though that was certainly a collision!" Sending a single glance upstairs, he added, "I suppose it's fortunate we are engaged, or this would have been a rather compromising position."

She tried to return his smile. "A position with you is never compromising, _ma chère._ " Gesturing to the gallery above, she said,"My apologies, but I am returning to my chambers."

As she took a step around him, his brow furrowed with concern. "Are you sure you're all right? You _do_ look flustered."

" _Certainement_ ," Babette replied with logical ease. "A near disaster on a staircase _will_ cause such an effect."

Nicolas grinned meekly at his small folly. "Yes, of course. And you had something to eat?"

"Yes, Nicolas," she gently assured. "I only wanted some privacy."

"As is your God-given right," he agreed with light-hearted emphasis. "By all means, be on your way."

They both resumed their respective directions, but Nicolas spun back around on the second landing. "Oh, before you go, allow me to ask, how does a promenade of the shops today sound?"

She smiled sincerely this time. " _Merveilleux_."

"Excellent!" he said, beaming back at her and waving her forth. "Carry on, my lady."

Babette did so, and breathed with some relief. Perusing shops sounded like a quiet, relaxed, and particularly uneventful way to spend an afternoon; just what she desired.

* * *

Babette was in the midst of lining her lips with rouge when Bernadette returned. Curiosity enticed her to ask what kind of conversation had kept her maid in the dining room, but Babette knew she was being unreasonable in jumping to such conclusions. Bernadette would not change her alliances so easily, even if the other side _was_ rather persuasive.

Her maid came to lightly sit on the vanity bench beside her as she watched Babette in the mirror. "Do you ever find it tedious?"

Her mistress eyed her, intrigued. "Find what tedious?"

Bernadette shyly shrugged. "Having to maintain an appearance every day."

Babette tried to stifle a snort. "Have I not been obvious in my feelings?"

"You have, but… do you still find it at all enjoyable?"

"Some days, when it is not merely an obligation." She nudged her cosmetics over to Bernadette as she stood from the bench. "I did not manage to inquire last night: How did you get along with M. Lumière?"

"Oh! Um…" Bernadette busied herself with the adding finishing touches to her face while she gathered a response. "Truthfully, he was more accommodating than I expected. I felt… perfectly at ease."

"I am glad to hear it," Babette replied as congenially as possible while she fussed with her dress in the standing mirror across the room. "He seemed delighted by your attentions."

"Like I said, he is very obliging. A man of good humor, too." Bernadette paused as she assessed her work, but her countenance became thoughtful. "There… _was_ a moment—"

Babette found her maid's eyes in an instant. "When? What happened?"

"Nothing!" Bernadette squeaked at her lady's both calm and piercing ferocity. "It was… only a glimpse of… a sadness. But I may have been mistaken."

In an excuse to evade Babette's attention, she began topping off her complexion with powder.

The viscountess tried to make her sigh less audible. "Bernadette, I sincerely admire you for your capacity to sympathize. I wish I was more willing to. But… remember what I told you. He may not deserve your compassion."

Even though it was only in her peripherals, Babette saw the maid's shoulders slump. "I remember," she quietly replied.

When Bernadette didn't say more, Babette glanced over as she crossed the vanity for her own slippers. "Was I ever a topic of discussion between you?"

Bernadette looked alarmed at the idea. "Not at all! How unbecoming _that_ would have been, with you in earshot the entire evening! No, even if there had been a brief moment where you could have been mentioned, it was never attempted." With great dignity, she stood from the bench as she went on, "Not to mention I might have lost any respect I had gained for him."

Babette smiled at her passionate honesty. "Me thinks the lady doth protest too much?"

Seeing Bernadette's horrified expression uncapped Babette's giggles. "I am teasing! I believe you, wholeheartedly."

Though she heaved a sigh of relief, Bernadette became a little miffed. Another laugh escaped her mistress before she entreated, "Forgive me, _chérie._ You have such marvelous reactions to things spoken out of turn, I find it difficult to contain myself."

"So I have heard many times," Bernadette said before shrugging. "I suppose it is better that I unconsciously entertain rather than irritate." Turning from the mirror, she abruptly stopped in her tracks as her brow furrowed. "Unless I _do_ irritate, in which case—"

"Do not worry yourself," Babette soothed with a smirk. " _I_ am more capable of irritating than you are."

Bernadette pouted her lips like she wanted to counter Babette's statement, but wisely moved the subject forward instead. "Do you still believe he is disapproving of you to M. de Créquy?"

Babette could plainly hear her maid's doubt, despite her efforts to stem it. "I recognize that I have no tangible proof to show of his capabilities for deception, but…"

In her reluctance to disclose more, and thus relive different times, Babette drifted off, but Bernadette turned to her with concern. "Deception?" she repeated with quiet awe.

 _Perhaps that word is too strong,_ Babette mused, but on second thought, she did not want to diminish its effect, especially if it kept Bernadette on her guard around him. She lifted her chin, gathering her fortitude before she claimed, "I could tell you stories of my time with him at Château du Lac, but… now is not the time."

Bernadette silently watched her, her face awash with empathy, before nodding. "Of course." She then grabbed Babette's hand. "May we not think any more of it and enjoy today?"

Mlle de Chantemerle mirrored her sweet, encouraging smile and gave her maid's hand a pulse. " _Mais oui, m'amie._ As much as we can."

With reticules in hand, Babette linked their arms, and they marched comradely out into the gallery.

* * *

The day was turning out nicer than the one before, and as a result brought out many pedestrians, rich and poor alike, to meander the streets for business and for pleasure. Open carriages were taken out of storage so their tenants could greet the cloudless skies. This made the trip to Île de la Cité even more arduous due to the congested traffic, but the foursome didn't mind, and if any of them did, they refused to show it.

Babette sat rather quietly as her attentions kept being drawn to the streets to people-watch. Though Nicolas occasionally glanced at his fiancée, he mainly listened in to Lumière's teasing of Bernadette.

"Did you tell him to ask me about them?" the maid demanded in an attempt to be outraged, but her laughs diminished any kind of intimidation she intended.

Across from her, Lumière was sitting with a content amount of self-assurance. "I may have mentioned it in passing," he replied in feigned naïveté, though he could not hide his delighted smirk entirely.

"What _is_ your opinion of keyboardists?" Nicolas had to inquire, eyeing Bernadette's blush with interest.

Bernadette threw a glare in Lumière's direction, whose eyebrows raised questioningly back at her, but she could not maintain her seriousness for very long. As her smile was revealed, so was his.

He nodded for her to proceed. "Will you tell him, or shall I?"

The maid dressed in a viscountess's gown sat straighter in her seat and ran her gaze critically over his person, looking quite the part of a smug aristocratic woman. "It is of no import," she answered elegantly, turning the other cheek as though to end the discussion. Lumière chuckled at her impersonation.

"Mademoiselle's praise of the harpsichordist from last night was… _enthusiastic_ ," he told Nicolas, implication ringing in his tone.

Nicolas' smile broadened. "Really! I agree, M. Duphly certainly has a talent; I enjoy his playing very much as well. My favorite performance of his was a Rameau suite last year. Delightful melodies!" To Lumière, he said, "Actually, I believe _you_ would enjoy his music. Perhaps we could buy a copy for you to play upon our return home."

Lumière didn't need to see the quick wink Nicolas punctuated his casual suggestion with to comprehend what his friend was trying to do, especially when Bernadette exclaimed, "Play? Do you mean…?"

He gave a brief chastising look to Nicolas before showing his palms to Bernadette. " _C'est vrai_. But please, if you do happen to hear me play, prepare to be disappointed. I could never meet the standard set by M. Duphly."

"Nevertheless, it would be a wonderful privilege to hear you play!" she said, beaming at them both. "I would be thrilled! And then perhaps…" She glanced to her mistress beside her. "… mademoiselle may also favor us with a song or two."

Babette huffed a laugh, exchanging a curious look with her maid. "I am afraid your disappointment will be much keener if I am to be compared with last night's singers."

"It sounds like we may have the makings of a private recital!" Nicolas noted, his eyes twinkling when they landed on Babette.

"Then you will be joining us?" Lumière cunningly prompted.

Nicolas quirked a dubious eyebrow at his friend. "Naturally, as an audience member."

Lumière looked jarred at this declaration, his hand shooting to his bosom. "What? And withhold your _bewitching_ voice from such musically intuitive mesdemoiselles? That is indeed a selfish act on your part!"

Nicolas shook his head at his dramatics. "Lumière, that was over ten years ago."

Lumière turned to the ladies with a playful smile. "He was highly admired as a _garçon_ for his tuneful timbre at Mass." Nicolas hung his head at the memory, but this only encouraged Lumière to add, despite his desire to laugh, "He made every devout madame swoon when he sang solos."

"But I do not sing anymore," Nicolas said adamantly.

As though he had drawn an ace, Lumière countered, "Oh… yes, you do."

Nicolas watched him suspiciously, but then sighed. "What is it you think you know?" he asked in an exhausted tone. "Spit it out."

"As though you do not hum melodies in the bath, especially after a concert or opera your mother has dragged us to." Lumière shook his head chidingly. "Nicolas… have some regard for the ones who have lived with you, _s'il vous plaît._ "

With a sense of victory, Nicolas pointed out, "You even said it yourself! 'Hum!' Not ' _sing_.'"

"Would you rather have me be blunt?" Lumière asked, like he had been doing him a kindness. "I certainly can, if you would like! After all, you know better than anyone how you take advantage of a bath's exceptional acoustics to hear the pleasantness of your own voice." He shrugged before granting, "I will not be modest in saying so for myself."

"I think you've said enough for the both of us."

Undeterred by the viscount's acute gaze, Lumière proclaimed, "Then you admit it!"

"If you will drop the subject."

The maître d' slumped against the back of his seat with a defeated sob. "So you will not be dazzling us with an extraordinary display of your gifts?"

"Not of the musical sort, if they can even be called 'gifts.'"

"Humble to a fault!" Lumière tearfully lauded, patting his friend on the knee. "You do set such a fine example for us all, _mon ami_."

Desperate to alter the discussion's course, Nicolas shifted his sights to the mademoiselle across from him. "See anything interesting, Babette?"

She looked to him as though she hadn't been pretending to listen. "We are along the Seine. It should not be too long now."

He leaned forward to see what she saw. "Why don't we walk from here? I'm aching for open air!" Nicolas knocked on the roof of the carriage, and its glacial pace came to a complete stop. He then opened the door and hopped onto the cobblestone, reaching for Babette's hand. "Hurry, before the drivers behind start cursing at us!"

Babette giggled as she followed him down the rung, livened by his enthusiasm. They both rushed through the stagnant coaches to the sidewalk lining the river ahead of their friends, dodging the truffles a pair of horses had left in their wake.

Upon their exit, Bernadette waved to Marc on his lonely perch as Lumière slapped the side of carriage in farewell. The footman tipped his tricorne hat to them with a half-hearted smile. Lumière certainly sympathized with him; Having to miss out on the escapades they were having, specifically exemplified in Nicolas and Babette's current display of vim and verve, must be heart-breaking indeed.

Along the quay, the lapping of the river and the cries of gulls overhead mingled with the clops of hooves on cobblestone and the coarse shouts of coachmen. All the while, boatmen called commands on their barges, washerwomen sat on the banks scrubbing their laundry, and aspirational bourgeoisie briskly strode toward Pont-Neuf in their best outfits to flaunt their extensively practiced gait and manners.

 _Only in Paris_ , Lumière observed contentedly.

With Bernadette once more on his arm, they followed the betrothed pair down Pont-Notre-Dame as shops and apartments soon obscured the view of the Seine. Three-storied buildings cast a shadow over the street and condensed the din of pedestrians' chatter, but they could still faintly make out between it the gulls' warbles and river's song.

Since Lumière and Bernadette had not the intention to shop nor much money to spare, they and Nicolas allowed Babette to choose whatever store caught her fancy. Thankfully, her decisions kept all their interests in mind. Even if they were merely window shopping, it was the allure of fine craftsmanship that called them through the shops' doors. From beautiful fabric and ribbons to expertly worked wood, metal, and jewelry, they all found something to admire in any shop Babette picked out.

While the boys took a curious glance through a gunsmith's shop, Babette and Bernadette wandered into a millinery across from it. Well-to-do ladies of the viscountess's caliber perused the walls of hats, gloves, and accessories and bustled in and around the counter with their chosen goods. Babette normally would not condone being caught in a shop so populated, but Bernadette was excited by what she saw, especially since it was of the highest fashion, and so led the way. Babette followed closely as Bernadette asked her questions about the merchandise. Though in a class that prided on being fashionable, Babette could not give information of the detail Bernadette was demanding. Babette knew what she liked, and that was precisely what she wore, whether it was particularly in fashion or not. Luckily, the maid was approached by a helpful shopkeeper, whom Bernadette happily turned to after the disappointing answers her mistress had tried to provide. Babette then made her way to the first quiet corner she saw.

For a few moments, Babette was admiring rolls of velvet and patterned muslin in peace until she heard an audible gasp behind her that made her jump. She spun to squint at the girl in annoyance, but found it was Bernadette gawking at a _bergère_ on a display stand. The maid reached for it, but hesitated, looking unsure if she was allowed to.

Babette's irritation faded as she came to her friend's side. "What are you waiting for? Try it on!"

Bernadette blinked back at her. "Should I? But…" With a firm shake of her head, she said, "Non. There would be no point. I am sure I have not the money."

"Even so, _I_ want to see if it would even have been worth it." Babette took the hat from its stand and placed it on Bernadette's curls.

"It even has a pattern underneath!" she cried, beaming up at the hat's underside as Babette tied the ribbons into a bow at the nape of her neck.

Babette appraised it on her maid as an artist would. It was a slightly downcurved straw hat with golden silk ribbons, pale lace overlay, and a matching ostrich feather curving around the crown, fastened to the hat by ruffles on the brim. Tilted at a slight angle, it was most becoming on her. The _bergère_ was not only the perfect size for Bernadette's petite face and figure, but it looked as though it had been made for her saffron gown.

Bernadette began to look self-conscious. "It does not suit me, I'm sure."

" _Au contraire!"_ Babette defied, her contemplative expression morphing into joy. "You must own it immediately!"

"I do not look silly?"

"Hush! If I cannot talk so, then you certainly will not be given the opportunity either." Babette smirked as she untied and took the hat. " _Viens_ , let us make our purchase before the counter is overrun."

Bernadette gripped her arm. "Wait! Babette, I cannot buy it." She considered the floor, her cheeks beginning to glow. "I… cannot afford to."

Babette firmly took her hand. "No matter. I will pay for it."

Her maid glanced up at her in awe. "You will?"

" _Bien sûr_ ," her mistress said, and pressed the maid's hand. "Consider it a gift."

The elation Bernadette emitted was the only thanks Babette needed to be pleased, but Bernadette still whispered feverishly her gratitude until they had left the shop, her new _bergère_ sitting prettily upon her head.


	15. Confidence in Confidantes

_Chapter Fifteen: Confidence in Confidantes_

Like proper, diligent escorts, Nicolas and Lumière were waiting patiently outside the millinery for the ladies to rejoin them. At seeing the girls, both their eyes alighted on Bernadette.

"The first purchase of the day!" Nicolas announced. "No longer is the term 'shopping' merely a euphemism for us." He bowed politely. "Merci, Bernadette. You look very charming."

Bernadette bobbed a sweet curtsey. "Thank you, monsieur, but the credit must go to mademoiselle and her generosity."

"Indeed?" Nicolas uttered with a dimpled grin in Babette's direction.

"My compliments to them both," Lumière joked to the viscountess. She consented to give him a small, lukewarm nod in return.

As he drew up next to Bernadette and continued their promenading, he murmured to her, "I had not known prior to this moment a hat could cause such an effective change in demeanor. You are positively _radiant,_ mademoiselle."

"Merci, monsieur," she said, touching the _bergère_ at its brim as though to make sure it was still there. She heaved an exalted sigh. "I feel so spoiled! I have never owned anything so lovely. Mademoiselle does me such a kindness, I do not even know if I deserve it!"

He couldn't help but find this prime example of her artlessness endearing. "I am sure she would not have done so otherwise."

She was quiet as they walked a few more feet before she spoke again, "I have often dreamed of what it was like to be a lady: to walk in her shoes, and wear her clothes, and attend her meetings and balls. And now!" Her broad grin was bright and sparkling. "Oh, she does not realize what she has given me. But I…" The corners of her mouth drooped. "I do not have the means to repay her."

Lumière glanced at the children that skirted through the throng and hurried away, their giggles full and lively. "You have been in her service for many years, oui?"

She nodded. "I was made her handmaiden at her debut."

"Then… perhaps this is her way of returning the favor." He smirked as he thought on it. "I imagine she was not the easiest mistress to supervise."

Bernadette smiled back. "For a long while, I believed I was one of the reasons she continually ran off into town. There was a time when she did not confide much of anything in me, right before she wen—was sent away."

Lumière peered down at her, but she was keeping her eyes forward. It seemed that she might be trying to withhold emotion, but he couldn't help but wonder if she had been checking herself.

"But she confides in you now, of course," he prompted.

With a happy nod, she replied, "She does… just as I am sure M. de Créquy has done with you, oui?"

Lumière chuckled. "Oh, yes, even when it would have been better to keep certain confidences secret from each other."

Bernadette attempted to hide her snicker behind her fingers. "Both of you have such a delightful friendship! Almost like close siblings."

He shrugged and conceded, "We _did_ grow up together."

"Did you truly? From what age?"

"Nearly twenty years ago."

Her eyes widened in amazement. "My word _,_ friends for that long! How enchanting!" She gave his arm a squeeze. " _And_ inspiring."

Catching onto her meaning, he granted, "I suppose it must seem fantastic."

She slowly shook her head. "Not anymore."

He contemplated her for a moment. "Why do you say so?"

Bernadette pressed her lips together before she spoke with great consideration. "Both of you… have such admirable character, monsieur, that it is no longer a question on how you two… came to overlook your respective classes." She touched the brim of her _bergère_ again. "Before I was placed under mademoiselle's charge, I had never dared any attempts to cross that boundary." Her smile to him was supremely content. "I suppose I am merely happy to see it is possible in more ways than one."

Lumière found his heart warmed by this sincere disclosure, and amicably covered the hand on his elbow.

"Lumière!"

He and Bernadette looked up to see Nicolas and Babette had gained more ground. They stood under a parfumerie's sign as Nicolas hailed them and the viscountess calmly waited by his side.

Lumière caught Babette's gaze, and in that fleeting instant, he saw something in her expression he could not ascertain, but it seemed to border between suspicion and unease.

With a bizarre twinge of shame, he removed his hand from Bernadette's as they traversed the rest of the distance. When they came within earshot, Lumière glanced up at the sign and remarked, "Ah, yes, we must not disappoint your mother."

In wholehearted agreement, Nicolas conveyed a look to him that reminded Lumière of the time they _had_ forgotten. Neither wanted to repeat that particular string of guilt trips the countess would undoubtedly have unloaded on them again.

"Hopefully, we are not too long," the viscount said, glancing at the gaggle of ladies that trooped into the parfumerie together.

"Take your time!" his friend assured, and referred to the arm Bernadette held. "If mademoiselle is willing, we shall wait at the café we passed at the end of the bridge."

"That would be perfect!" Bernadette instantly replied, but then looked to Babette to check. "Would that be all right, miss?"

Babette hadn't been smiling until her maid had addressed her, and even then there was still a tension in her demeanor. "Of course, _chérie_."

With that settled, Nicolas allowed his fiancée to step ahead of him as he held the shop's door open. On the threshold, Babette checked over her shoulder to see her maid and the maître d' already back to their leisurely pace. She quickly turned toward the wave of mingled floral and woody scents that immediately greeted her, hoping that to Nicolas it had seemed only a passing glance.

As the door shut behind the betrothed pair, Bernadette also peeked behind herself to be sure before she said to Lumière, "Monsieur, I—"

"Before you say more," he interrupted with a crooked grin. "I insist you call me Lumière. No need for such formalities in private company, don't you agree?"

She condoned it with a smile, though her breathing fluttered. "I suppose you are right. In that case then, you may call me Bernadette."

"I will consider it a privilege," came his easy debonair response.

Under the shadow of the Palais de la Cité's ornate clock tower, they sat at one of the outdoor tables covered by the café's awning. Over the course of their walk in comfortable silence, Lumière had noticed a line slowly grow between Bernadette's dark, thin brows, and so offered to get her a drink. She was as polite as ever in her consent, but a slight tremble in her voice made him wonder. He fetched both of them glasses of chardonnay and allowed her to take her time sipping it as his gaze shifted between her and the passers-by.

She set her glass carefully on the table. "Mons—sorry," she stopped with a clearing of her throat. "Lumière… there is a particular question I must ask you, but it may sound impertinent at first—or altogether."

Lumière straightened in his seat at how self-conscious she seemed at his possibly taking offence. While trying to hide his mounting curiosity, he gave her a warm smile. " _Chérie,_ to sound impertinent to my ears would take much more than what I am sure you have to say. You may ask me what you wish."

By a small smile, Bernadette showed she was mostly comforted, but still held some doubts. "This is a subject I could not broach in the presence of M. de Créquy and mademoiselle."

He stilled at her words, but quirked an inquiring eyebrow. "Does it concern them?"

She nervously pursed her lips, and silently nodded again.

He fingered the stem of his wine glass as his thoughts began to race. Fears arose and started to wrap around his pounding heart. Did she know about his attempts at sabotaging his friend's engagement? Did _Babette_ know?

His eyes rested on Bernadette, who was watching him with bated breath. _Whatever her intentions are, they must be out of concern for everyone_ , Lumière reasoned.

After a deep sigh to calm his stomach, he asked, "And what might your question be?"

She swept a stray hair behind her ear. "I understand that… you and M. de Créquy would do anything within your powers to ensure each other's happiness."

He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, though he refused to move another muscle. "Naturally."

Bernadette looked afraid to pursue it, but then said with a clear and calm voice, "With that in mind… do you have any concerns about his choice of bride?"

The question itself caused a spike of alarm to traverse his body, but by the manner she had spoken it, her words suggested no inference into betrayal.

He thought quickly and carefully on them besides. "Have you heard anything that would give rise to that assumption?"

She seemed sorry to say, "I have."

His brow furrowed. "From whom?"

She hesitated before dropping her shoulders in defeat. "Mlle Babette."

Lumière turned his eyes to the inside of his glass for stern contemplation, but she did not give him a chance to think.

"She told me about… working with you at the château."

Panic struck him at the idea of Bernadette knowing about their affair, and worse, Babette having _told_ her, but because he did not initially react, he heard her add unassumingly, "That you had become friends while she was there."

Relief came out of him in a heavy sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose before he managed to look at her once more. "If she spoke of us as friends, why would there be a question about what I think of her?"

Bernadette didn't answer, but instead broke eye contact to stare into her wine.

That said it all.

His expression became grave. "She does not consider me a friend."

" _I_ believe she should." She leaned forward to search his face, asking tentatively, " _Do_ you have any objections with mademoiselle?"

He met her eyes. "Non. She makes Nicolas happy, and…" His heart contracted painfully as he spoke. "… clearly adores him, as he adores her. How could I have any objections when that is what matters most between husband and wife?"

"Then there should not be this estrangement!" she strongly declared. "I hate to see mademoiselle become stone whenever you address her. It is so unlike her to treat anyone that way."

He crossed his arms and slouched in his chair. "Then in her eyes, I must have committed something akin to treason."

Her eyes widened. "Did you?"

He hesitated, unable to prevent himself from becoming guarded. At this precise moment, some honesty was the best course, but how honest should he be?

However, Bernadette seemed to notice his discomfort. "Is it a very private matter?"

He managed to relax a little at being excused from answering her prior question. "Not… exactly," he said, mustering a half-hearted laugh. "The only word I would use to describe it is… complicated, however inadequate and overused it might be."

After a moment of thoughtful silence, she gathered her poise about her, and not only perched in her chair like a royal but spoke like one. "Well, I want to help you."

Lumière looked at her without perceiving her. "Pardon?"

She tilted her head, regarding him. "Do you want to be on friendly terms with mademoiselle again?"

Beginning to register her offer, he came to balance on the edge of his seat. "Y—yes, that is…" He grinned as though he was just seeing Bernadette for the first time. Excitement and consolation flooded him immediately. "That is precisely what I have been trying to reassure her of."

Bernadette mirrored him at this positive response as words he hadn't been able to speak to a soul flowed from him. "But no one outside of you and her family know that she was sent to du Lac rather than a convent. We were introduced to each other as strangers, and I said and betrayed nothing of it being otherwise. Besides, it is not my place to tell Nicolas that Babette and I have met before."

She blinked her big brown orbs at him. "You are on first-name terms with her?" she whispered with awe.

He grimaced at his slip. "Forgive me, I… I knew her first as Babette. None of the staff at the château were made aware of her true lineage."

"Oh! Of course," she agreed to, laughing at herself. "That makes a world of sense!"

She watched him for a moment as they both sipped at their wine. "I knew mademoiselle must have been exaggerating."

Lumière glanced over at her before he set his glass down. "About me?"

"Yes," she confirmed with a sympathizing frown. "It is as though she has been trying to make sure I do not think too highly of you."

Disappointed, he shook his head. "The lengths she has taken to ensure I am not trusted, sadly… do not surprise me." He leaned his chin on a contemplative hand. "What made you believe she was exaggerating?"

"I have heard testimony in your favor. You remember Marion?"

"Marion?" He narrowed his eyes, unsure. "Not from the tavern…"

"Oui, the very same!" she said, beaming. "She has given you very high praise, especially when her other customers were nothing but rude that day."

"Is she a friend of yours?"

" _Ma cousine_ , but we have always been close."

His countenance brightened. "Ah, _mais oui!_ Now I see the resemblance. Well, I am only ever too happy to cheer her. She is a marvelous hostess."

Bernadette's eyes sparkled cleverly as she added, "She has also mentioned how well you tip."

"Only what I can afford," he dismissed with a shrug of his shoulder, and said sincerely, "But she deserves every _sou_."

"You see? The person mademoiselle described to me would not be so generous nor so humble." Bernadette took a moment to think on it. "Whatever may have occurred between you two… perhaps it was a misunderstanding."

"It would certainly not be the first time," he dryly replied before finishing off his wine and inquiring, "Did you perchance have any suggestions on how to appeal me to mademoiselle?"

"Not quite. Whenever I have mentioned giving you the benefit of the doubt, she refuses to listen."

He released a slow breath. "I thought it might come to that."

Bernadette leaned on the table when he became pensive. "Monsieur?"

Still lost in thought, he looked at her, which unintentionally caused her to catch herself. She corrected her small lapse. "Lumière."

He tapped a quick rhythm on the metal arm of his chair. "I must plead my case to her personally. Alone."

Concern crossed her features. "She has asked me to make certain you are not left alone with her."

He covered her hand reassuringly. "And I would not ask you to completely disregard her wishes. At least… not until the precise moment."

"Are you thinking of a plan?"

A corner of Lumière's mouth lifted as he saw her anticipation. "Not necessarily. It is too difficult to plan in our current situation. We must be as impromptu as our time here. I only hope we have a chance before we depart Paris. Otherwise… I might never have the opportunity to apologize _and_ have her believe me genuine."

"So it _is_ a misunderstanding?"

He wavered for only a second before granting, "To a point, oui."

With some uncertainty, she offered, "Well, if we must be impromptu, I hope I am able to recognize when the time is right."

"Trust me," he assured, his tone full of lighthearted foreboding. "You will receive from me a signal difficult to ignore."

Without missing a beat, she said, "I trust you."

Lumière's smile grew as she confessed her confidence in him. He took her hand and kissed it. "Consider me entirely in your debt."

She tried to stifle the pleasure from showing in her grin, but he could tell she was extremely flattered by the gesture.

Then a glint of mischief lit his eyes. "But first…"

Not having perceived trouble, Bernadette innocently impelled him with a, "Yes?"

While casually crossing his legs, he said, "Allow me to ask you a similarly penetrating question, while we have another moment to spare by ourselves."

"Should I be worried?" she joked.

"Non. Not you, at least," he hinted at with a smirk. "I must admit, curiosity has been gnawing at me since yesterday to inquire into your past affairs."

She tilted her head like a fascinated puppy. "Past affairs?"

With effortless nonchalance, he elaborated, "Your previous suitors, lovers, gentlemen callers - whichever term you prefer."

Bernadette emitted a tinkling giggle, covering her burning cheeks. " _Monsieur!_ "

"Oh, there _is_ a string of broken hearts in your wake! Forgive me if I do not express much astonishment."

Not seeming to hear the latter end of his declaration, she fervently assured, "Non, non, not at all! There are no… _suitors_ to speak of." Her face flushed more deeply, which made her laugh again and mumble, " _Par bleu,_ how mortifying!"

"I understand if you do not wish to name them in public, _chérie_ ," he continued with the most irritating ease. "When a number of ears are listening, it is more conscientious to spare both parties face."

Her jaw dangled in shock at this brashness before she resolutely decided, "You are a _far_ more relentless tease than I previously gave you credit for."

He offered her an impenitent shrug. "I am afraid it is my greatest weakness. But please, do not keep me in suspense! We shall begin with a number—or were you planning on making me guess?"

"Lumière, as I said, I have not had any—"

"Seven."

Bernadette's jaw dropped again. " _Seven?"_

His instinct to laugh almost overwhelmed him, but he managed to placate himself in his endeavor to remain businesslike. "Ten."

A tiny gasp escaped her. She glanced around at those sitting nearby to make sure they were not as appalled as she felt. "Monsieur, what kind of woman do you think I am?"

"It cannot be more than fifteen."

" _Lumière,_ please!" she hissed. "Lower your voice!"

Delighted at this commanding side of the sweet and petite maid, Lumière was induced to respond with, "Of course, how barbarous of me! We must consider the feelings of the poor messieurs still nursing their shattered hearts. I assure you, I will be a paragon of discretion."

It took a minute or so for Bernadette to arise from her fit of laughter. "Lumière, I entreat you, spare me any more of this nonsense!"

After heaving a lengthy sigh, he said, "As you wish, mademoiselle. But, to be perfectly honest, I find it very hard to believe that there are no men you could say have fallen in love with you. They all must have been too meek to approach in fear of refusal."

"Whether that was _ever_ the case, I could not say," she said, fidgeting with the draw string of her reticule. "But… if you must know, I have only suffered one case of unrequited love, and it was rather mild."

"Oh? And who was the unworthy monsieur?"

Bernadette chided him with a look. "He is _very_ worthy, in fact. I would even say eligible, for someone of our station."

And so began Lumière's strand of casual probing. "Did he work with you?"

"Oui. He still does," she informed. "At the time he was only a footman, but now he is the majordomo. An exceptional one, too!"

"He must be intelligent."

"Oh, very!" she instantly replied. "There is hardly a question I could ask him and he not know the answer."

"And his manners?"

"Genteel. Though like you, he likes to tease." She smirked at him. "But not nearly as cruelly!"

"His name?"

"Henri."

"Henri," he repeated under his breath, mulling it over. "Is he attractive?"

Bernadette's blush was renewed only slightly, but she remained composed. " _I_ would say so. And mademoiselle has agreed with me."

Lumière's eyebrows shot up, finding this a riveting point. " _Has_ she? From what I recall, her taste is rather exclusive. He must be very handsome indeed!"

Awkwardness crept into her posture. "He is not… an _Adonis_ , or… classically handsome, I suppose. But everything else about his character, what I think _really_ matters, recommends him." Her eyes met his, and she could not withhold inquiring, "What might you know about mademoiselle's taste in men?"

A reminiscent smirk crept onto his lips. "A great many things, _chérie._ We have discussed it in detail."

"Have you!"

She clearly found this information delightfully salacious but did not want to so obviously give herself away. Lumière's smile spread as he watched her articulate her question. "Would you… happen to know, then… if M. de Créquy is… indeed, to her usual taste?"

"Admittedly, he is not," he calmly answered. "But I believe it is for the better."

She nodded, following. "I am glad to hear it."

Having to snap himself out of his retrospections, he reverted to her again as a subject. "So this Henri no longer holds himself in your interest?"

Bernadette eyed him askance. "Why are you so keen to know?"

Without hesitation, he smoothly replied, "I find that to ask about past relationships is the truest way to understanding a person's character. Not that yours was ever in question!" he made sure to say. "In your case, I simply found my curiosity could not be abated. You could not be as innocent as you appeared!" He shrugged as she laughed at his statement. "You have proven me wrong! So to you, I willingly submit."

"Well… to further stem your curiosity," she said with precision. "I will have you know Henri is merely a friend, and no more."

He inclined his head to her, his eyes twinkling. "Then I have no further questions."

* * *

One step out of the parfumerie and Babette gratefully filled her lungs with the city air. Though it wasn't nearly as finely scented, it at least didn't oppress her sense of smell. The dull headache that had begun from overexposure to essences from China, India, the Mediterranean—and she knew not where else—was finally subsiding.

Nicolas chuckled at her obvious relief. "I am sorry for forcing you through that. Normally, our visits in there are not so tedious, even when my mother is with us."

She waved away the apology. "I would much sooner blame those ridiculous girls who were helped before us, along with that shopkeeper. He did _not_ need to entertain every single one of their questions."

"He must have seen a significant sale in them, trying to take advantage of their ignorance—and their 'purses full-to-bursting,'" he quoted with amusement.

Babette scoffed, shaking her head. "I wonder how their mothers and fathers could release them on the streets in that way, especially in a city that preys on such naïveté. The poor creatures."

He playfully nudged her. "He certainly couldn't trick you."

She mirrored his dimpled smile as she took his arm. "Unfortunately for him, I am too determined _not_ to be tricked to allow for it ever to be a possibility."

They continued to meander with the throng. Chatter surrounded them on all sides as the whites and pastel colors of the pedestrians seemed to crowd them. Babette took to walking more closely to Nicolas, eyeing the passing crowds and their vapid airs with distrust. Shifting the delicately wrapped package to under his arm, he covered her hand with his. A flutter occurred in her chest, and she peeked a glance at him. He caught her looking, grinned, and shyly turned his eyes forward. She lightly squeezed his arm. His presence alone was enough comfort in swarming, public places like this.

At the end of the bridge, and line of shops, the masses were thankfully more dispersed, and so they were able to find their friends sitting at the café in animated discussion.

Babette tried to curb her apprehension. _At least Bernadette is enjoying herself._

Her maid spotted them first and waved them over. " _There_ you are! We were only just wondering where you might have gone off to!"

Nicolas exchanged a humorous look with Babette as they sat down across from them. "We… did not go off anywhere else."

Bernadette's jaw dropped as Lumière smirked knowingly. "Was it the same _parfumeur_ as before?" he checked.

"Oui," Nicolas confirmed. "And he clearly cannot keep an apprentice."

"It is no small wonder," Babette muttered, and Lumière's smile grew by the tiniest measure.

"What a pity to have to wait so long!" Bernadette remarked emphatically as she looked at the one package Nicolas had set on the table. "And this was all you needed to purchase?"

"For dear Maman," Nicolas said with a grin. "I will be regaling her with that story in detail the next time I'm in desperate need of a favor."

"Has he become senile?" Lumière asked, half-jokingly.

"Not quite," Nicolas replied, having to smile a little. "Our delay can be credited to five indecisive mesdemoiselles."

Lumière laughed. "My condolences!"

"That _is_ a shame," Bernadette agreed. "You would think a good shopkeeper would prevent long waits for their customers."

"Absolutely!" Nicolas concurred. "But this particular shopkeeper is too fixated on the prospects of a great sale to take that into consideration. It is a shame he makes such a fine product, else I would have taken my business elsewhere, as Babette kept suggesting," he added with a wry look in her direction.

"My patience can be tried," she proudly defended, "but not by those who are negligent to the people outside of themselves. Why no one has taught them better will remain a mystery to me," she said with pity.

"If only all of nobility had been blessed with guardians like ours," Lumière noted with teasing fancy. "Would not the world be a much more intelligent place?"

"Full of respect to others," Babette supplied, a slight sardonic smile on her lips.

"And an abundance of common sense!" Nicolas contributed.

Lumière contemplated his friend. "That may give us a deal too much credit, _mon ami,_ but I will allow it in favor of mademoiselle," he said with a gesture to Babette, who quirked a skeptical eyebrow at him.

"You speak soundly, _frère_ ," Nicolas replied with an equal amount of mock-seriousness, and his fiancée shook her head, passing a hand over her own mouth to hide the oncoming of a smile.

The maître d' then threw up his hands. "Alas! The world chooses to dash our hopes with girls easily swindled by a monsieur scrounging for their purses… _C'est la vie!"_

"And to that… I'd like a drink," Nicolas concluded as he stood to fetch refreshments.

The safety Babette always felt while her betrothed was around faltered as he briskly walked inside the café. Even though Bernadette was present, being left alone with her and Lumière just seemed… disconcerting. Those two had been granted so much time to themselves, Lumière _must_ have taken advantage of some of it, right? To gain more ground, to speak more personally and intimately with Bernadette.

But Babette only found herself confused at the idea. Bernadette was not the kind of girl to encourage approach, nor was she even the type Lumière was fond of pursuing, yet they appeared to be perfectly comfortable with each other.

 _I must_ _have missed something_ , Babette thought anxiously. Whatever it was though, she did not like it, _or_ its implications.

Normally in such circumstances, Lumière took it upon himself to initiate some conversation to abate the awkward air, but unfortunately—and to his extreme chagrin—he was tongue-tied. After such an open discussion with Bernadette—at least, as open as it could be in this debilitating situation—it was positively crippling to suddenly be unable to speak even trifles. He wracked his brain for anything to start with that didn't want to make him cringe from the cliché of it, but Babette's penetrating gaze was making it difficult to focus.

Luckily, with her new sense of awareness, Bernadette had her wits about her for the both of them. She eagerly addressed her mistress, "Did you purchase anything for yourself?"

Babette tore her ice-blue eyes from Lumière, who couldn't help but feel some relief, and landed on her maid. Her features softened as she shook her head.

"And why not?" Bernadette asked like a chiding older sister.

This tugged at a corner of Babette's mouth as she detached the reticule from her wrist. "Why else does one not buy something? I did not want to, nor did I need to."

"Ma— _Babette_ ," she said with fervor. "We are in _Paris_ of all places! Should we not take advantage of what it offers?"

Babette had to laugh. "Of course, _chérie,_ but my idea of 'taking advantage' of Paris does not include shopping. I much prefer experiences to merchandise."

Bernadette narrowed her eyes as she crossed her arms. "As long as there is not another reason."

Lumière watched Bernadette warily. It appeared as though she were angling to elicit a certain response from her mistress, but he didn't see how his presence was at all welcome in this discussion. He glanced over his shoulder in hopes of Nicolas' return.

Babette mimicked the maître d', but she was also thwarted. She gave her maid a wry glance, trying to take this in stride. "I wonder, _ma chère_ , why I am being censured at all, and in public no less."

"Because you should be _enjoying_ yourself, and it is never too soon to be told so," Bernadette stated succinctly.

Baffled, Babette countered with some indignance, "And what would even suggest such a thing? I am enjoying myself immensely!"

"Are you?" Bernadette opposed. "We were of a mind that there was something keeping you from truly reveling in our time here. Is that not so, Lumière?"

After a double-take, the man in question met the expectant gaze of the maid with brow furrowed, all the while feeling rather potently the heated stare of the lady across from him. _Is_ this _her idea of help?_ he wondered incredulously.

Clearing his throat, he rose from his chair, fidgeting with his cravat as he tried to say as casually as possible, "I will see if Nicolas needs my assistance with the drinks."

"Wait, monsieur," Babette imposed without hesitation. Her tone was polite enough, but notes as cold as sleet could not be disguised from him. "I really _must_ inquire about what prompted this opinion of yours."

The accusation his former paramour chose to imbue in her words and eyes cornered him, at a loss on what to say. Still standing, but now with his heart pounding, he dropped his gaze to see Bernadette briefly in his peripherals. She was calm and confident, appearing to expect him to know how he should respond to this contrived allegation.

The only answer he could figure was to play along… without digging a deeper hole for himself.

Meeting her stare once again, he said quietly, "I did not mean to insinuate any fault in your recent conduct, mademoiselle. In either case, it was not my place to say… and I sincerely apologize for speaking out of turn."

From her expression, Babette felt the weight of truth in his address, and understood to what he truly referred to. Whether she accepted either was less certain, for his statement caused her to become quiet with contemplation.

Bernadette, on the other hand, was biting her lip to hide a smile of triumph that luckily her mistress was too distracted to notice.

Lumière did, however, and not without a look of faint reproof. Again, he tried to hurry to his friend, but upon turning, he saw Nicolas already coming out with a tray of glasses for them. Snapping out of his somber mindset, he had to smile at the appearance of his friend as a waiter.

"And what is this establishment about, allowing a mere vicomte like you to handle glassware?" Lumière scolded, feigning an attempt to swipe the tray from Nicolas as he approached.

Nicolas smoothly avoided the maître d's grasp, the skin around his eyes crinkling though his voice sounded stern. "Contrary to popular belief, viscounts _are_ able to carry their own food and drink." A droll smile played on his boyish mouth as he cleverly added, "Most of the time, we simply choose not to."

"So you would have all your staff believe, I am sure!"

As he spoke, Lumière checked Babette. Unsurprisingly, she had already composed herself in time for Nicolas to not wonder about anything amiss.

"But you cannot fool me," he continued, resuming his seat. "You secretly enjoy the toils of our servitude while your derriere remains firmly fixed on a comfortable chaise."

Nicolas had to laugh at this crude description. "Perhaps that is true for the general populace, and of human nature as a whole, but you will not—as you well know—find I portray even remotely that sort of perspective."

"Did you listen well?" Lumière directed to the girls. "He spoke for your ears alone!"

Nicolas had been setting the tray on the table as his friend was speaking, and as he rose, his hand deftly knocked the side of Lumière's head like it had been in passing.

Lumière gripped the area of reprimand. " _Ow,_ " he muttered with a penalizing yet somewhat reverent glare in Nicolas' direction. Babette wore a one-sided smirk and Bernadette giggled as Nicolas expunged a noble apology of questionable sincerity.

Along with glasses of chilled lemonade, there were samples of strawberry and peach confiture alongside a sliced baguette and two small clear bowls of orange _glace_.

"For the ladies," Nicolas informed with an effortlessly charming smile that both women found contagious—Babette especially. Lumière noticed her admiring attention lasted as they professed their thanks and delicately began savoring every bite.

"Tell me honestly," he said to Nicolas after a refreshing sip of his drink. "Did you have to beg to carry this tray out on your own?"

"I did _not_ stoop so low," Nicolas scoffed in reply before calmly shrugging. "I paid him instead."

The three others laughed at the endearing absurdity of such an action, yet neither Babette nor Lumière were surprised by it in the slightest. Their mutual amusement caused a discreet glance to be exchanged between them. Contrary to expectation, Babette did not look away immediately, not until she began to prod Nicolas on the amount of payment to the lucky attendee in the café.

From her look, Lumière could tell she was still wary toward him, but she no longer seemed hostile. That was not much to go off of, for he dared not to assume any change caused by Bernadette's curious and purposeful faux-pas. He only hoped there would more opportunity for progress in reconciling himself to her. And soon.


	16. Keeping Cards Close

_Chapter Sixteen: Keeping Cards Close_

It was sunset when they all returned to their residence on rue Saint-Antoine. In moderately good moods but drained of energy, none stayed for a nightcap in the salon for too long. After an exchange of well wishes for a good night's sleep, the ladies and gentlemen went their separate ways upstairs.

Lumière was just shutting his curtains when a knocking so soft he thought he had mistaken the sound was heard from his door. Heaving an exasperated sigh, he went to politely shoo Marc away until morning.

Upon opening his door, he blinked at his visitor. "Bernadette?"

With a shy smile, the maid bobbed a curtsey. "Bonsoir, Lumière. Did I wake you?"

At her look of worry, he came out of his surprise to shake his head and reassure, "Not at all!" Though having discarded his jacket and waistcoat, he was glad at that moment to be still clothed in his tunic and trousers for the lady's sake.

Knitting his brow in curiosity, he leaned his shoulder on the doorframe. "How may I serve?"

Nervously, she glanced around at Nicolas' door and the staircase, which made Lumière quirk an eyebrow. To him, she anxiously whispered, "May I speak with you in private? I promise it will not take long."

He hesitated before answering, only because this was not the first time a young mademoiselle had come to his room at night saying those precise words. Of course, those girls had hoped for a continuation of prior amorous activity. That certainly couldn't be the case here… though he couldn't prevent the thought from striking him.

But no, this was sweet, little Bernadette!

So then… what was it?

It was his turn to look concerned. "Is everything all right?"

Her eyes widened as she fervently nodded. "Oui, it is! But I must speak with you."

Due to Nicolas' insinuations, Babette's suspicions, and Marc's infatuation, none of them could catch Bernadette entering his chambers at this hour without some serious explanation, the kind that neither of them could divulge without sacrificing all of their secrets.

Lumière also eyed the gallery and listened closely for movement anywhere nearby. Hearing and seeing no one else, he opened his door wide enough for her to slip in before promptly closing it and quietly releasing the knob.

Bernadette wandered a little into the room, fidgeting with her pinky finger before facing him. "I feel I should apologize."

Though confused at her statement, he had to grin, certain this was for something small. "Whatever for?"

"I placed you in a rather compromising position at the café." When he didn't immediately speak, she looked expectantly to him. "Did I not?"

"Well…" he began, wanting to rectify her as gently as possible. "It _did_ catch me by surprise, but it was nothing I could not handle—as you witnessed!"

His assuring smile didn't abate her doubt. She threw her hands up in frustration. "I thought I was being clever in my questioning! All I meant to do was…"

Clearly flustered, she had to take a moment to compose herself. "I thought that if she could see you humble yourself for her, even by a little, that would be of some help." She plopped onto a chaise in the center of the room with a self-deprecating pout. "But I must have only embarrassed you!"

Lumière was trying to prevent his smirk from spreading. "Believe me when I say I have put myself in many more embarrassing situations, including with mademoiselle. You, _chérie,_ have nothing to worry about. My pride is still very much intact. Besides… the attempt was not completely in vain. I believe it made an impression on her, however minute."

Bernadette beamed with relief. "Oh, I'm so glad!"

"But," he had to delicately add as he took the armchair across from her. "If you could permit me to say so… perhaps we can practice more discretion in our methods."

She answered with a vigorous nod. "Of course! I have not the experience to tamper in your relationship with mademoiselle. Since it is entirely your business to deal with, you will surely know how best to go about it. I will merely be the willing accomplice!"

Having been saved the trouble of explaining all of that to her himself, Lumière smiled at her words. He was about to restate his gratitude, but was stopped by another round of soft knocks on his door.

Both immediately lined their sights on it, and a jolt suddenly went through Lumière's body. He jumped to his feet.

Bernadette eyed him with interest. "Lumière, who could that—?"

He halted her with a hand, a finger at his lips in an instant, but it was his piercing expression that drove her to silence.

"It's Marc," he whispered with dread.

" _Marc?"_ she repeated, baffled at the notion. "But why on earth would he—?"

 _Knock-knock-knock-knock._

"You must hide," Lumière urged, taking her arm at the elbow. "Quickly! Erm…" His gaze swept the room. "Ah! Here, behind the curtains," he instructed, dragging her forward.

"But Lumière!" she breathed, her curiosity getting the best of her. "How do you know it is—?"

"Please, _chérie,_ "he entreated as he placed her against the window. "Quiet as mouse!" And he shut the heavy curtains on her.

Skidding to a halt at his door, he took a breath to regather himself before cracking open the door to see the young servant pacing.

"Allo, Marc," he greeted with a convincing yawn. "I did not expect you to visit tonight after all."

Marc immediately spun around at the maître d's voice, his face contorting with remorse. "I know, and I apologize," he replied. "I tried to spare you my prattling but… I could not fall asleep! Could you… regale me, even a little, about today? Of how she was?"

The footman gripped the door frame in hope of entry, but Lumière made sure to stand firm. At Marc's earnestness, he remarked, "You are in a worst state than I had guessed, _mon ami._ "

"It _is_ pitiful, isn't it?" Marc concurred, hanging his head with a sigh. "It really is what they say, Lumière: A malady. A madness!"

Despite Marc's zeal, Lumière hid his desire to grin inside a grimace. "I am sorry to disappoint, but I cannot lavish you with every detail at this hour," the maître d' seemed to regret admitting. "However…" he went on, clasping Marc's shoulder as an excuse to lean out of his room and prevent his words from reaching a certain maid's ears. "I can assure you she is as untouched as a Diana."

The gears in Marc's mind cranked as he processed this. "Do you mean…?"

Lumière wore a wry smile. "To my great disbelief, she is quite innocent in the ways of love."

Marc's mouth shaped into a perfect "O," his eyes doubling in size. "You _asked her—_ and she _told you?"_

" _Ssh-ssh-ssh,_ " Lumière reminded, warily glancing around the vestibule again. "Yes, precisely."

"But _how?"_

"I like to think I have a gift in the art of persuasion," he explained with some finesse, his signature smirk on display. "You simply have not known me long enough to be familiar with my methods."

His eyes narrowing, Marc placed his hands on his hips in an attempt to look formidable. "What kind of methods are you referring to, Lumière?"

"Now, do not take that tone," the maître d' admonished. "As delightful as she is, my interests lie elsewhere."

There was a moment of serious consideration, but Marc crossed his arms with a shrug, seeming to barely accept that answer. "I would hope so."

Lumière chuckled, giving the footman a departing pat on the shoulder. "Bonne nuit, Marc."

Marc mustered a half-smile. "Good night."

As soon as he saw Marc's back, Lumière gratefully shut the door and released a tired sigh. " _Dieu merci."_

"Could I come out now?" came the polite, muffled voice from behind his curtains.

"Yes, _chérie,_ " he replied, rubbing his aching eyes. "Please do!"

With only a tiny bit of struggling to find the opening, Bernadette parted the curtains and closed them behind her before she addressed Lumière. "Was something the matter?"

He looked up at her from his own meditations. "With Marc? Non, he is… only curious about our city excursions."

"Oh!" The worry line between her eyes vanished, only to reappear as she said, "It _is_ a shame he is unable to join us on our little trips." She regarded him with interest. "And he has been coming to you to ask about how they went?"

"As far as I know."

He saw his reply caused her to look away and for her bottom lip to slightly protrude. Could Marc's feelings possibly be reciprocated?

He raised an inquiring eyebrow at Bernadette, putting a new motive to action. "Has he not been doing the same with you?"

She reset her mouth and innocently shook her head as she resumed her seat on the chaise. "Non… Not quite."

Lumière appeared stupefied by this news. "Strange! I have been under the impression that you both have been getting along famously."

With a bittersweet smile, she answered, "In a way, we have been, but more recently he has seemed… more nervous to speak with me."

 _Oh, Marc…_ Lumière groaned inwardly. The young footman needed to not be so overwhelmed by his own feelings. This only made what he was trying to help Marc with more difficult for them both.

He amiably dismissed her words with a smile, rushing to sit beside her. "Oh, _ma chère,_ do not pay him any mind! That has nothing to do with you! It is merely his… disposition."

"Disposition?" she echoed, her voice a mixture of confusion and hope.

" _Exactement!"_ he replied, her response only confirming his thoughts. "Unlike myself, he does not have the natural ability of articulating himself clearly. You could say he is simply… _modest_ or…"

Her shoulders visibly eased, and her eyes became big brown orbs. "Shy?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed, like she had hit the nail on the head. "And surely you could afford him some allowance despite any of his timidity." He grinned knowingly at her. "In that regard, you and he are not so incredibly different, if I may say so."

She smiled back, a bit of blush reaching her cheeks. "Perhaps not. It is only that… he did not seem very shy the night we arrived."

"True… but," he patiently reminded, "you also must remember that since yesterday morning, you have been wearing the finery of a viscountess. Naturally, a man of his constitution—or of _any_ constitution—would be intimidated by the sight of a beautiful woman so elegantly dressed."

Bernadette huffed in that adorably dismissive way of hers. She straightened her posture before she spoke. "I do not see why that is any reason to become intimidated!"

He playfully narrowed his eyes at her. "Do you mean to tell me you have never felt the same toward a rather handsome monsieur of noble birth? What about when you were first introduced to M. de Créquy?"

Based off her begrudging pout, he knew he had guessed correctly. She still argued, "But that was when I had never even spoken to M. de Créquy before! I do not feel quite so awestruck by him now."

"As it normally goes," Lumière confirmed. "But in similar circumstances, we men find we are _completely_ at the mercy of women. When a mademoiselle walks into our midst, logic and rational thought evade us!"

Bernadette laughed at the emphasis he spoke with as she arranged her hands neatly on her lap. "Perhaps for certain ladies, like Mlle Babette—even though she never means to."

"I assure you, it happens to every lady! You are undoubtedly a dream made real for a man, just waiting to enter into your favor," he laced with inference.

She seemed to want to doubt his words, but the idea of it must have taken hold of her, for she asked, "Really?"

"Really," he said, sincere yet sly. "To that end, I believe you should give young Marc the benefit of the doubt."

Her smile widened. "I would be only happy to!"

She then stood, and Lumière followed suit. Before she made it to the door, she overcame her hesitation to inquire, "What would you say to me taking over as Marc's confidante? Perhaps I might spare you any more interruptions on your sleep."

The eagerness with which she spoke caused him to beam with victory. "Why, mademoiselle, what a marvelous notion! You have my blessing," he bestowed with open arms.

With a gracious curtsey, she said lightheartedly, "Merci, monsieur."

"Non, the thanks are all mine," he insisted in his theatrical way as he took her hand in both of his. "You do me a _great_ service. I look forward to being incredibly well-rested!"

"Enjoy it on my behalf," she dictated with delighted regality.

"As you command," he murmured. He kissed the top of her hand before opening his door and handing her through it.

After a bandying of " _bonnes nuits,_ " he gratefully closed off the rest of the maison, swept a hand through his hair, and exhaled through a low whistle. Another night of this and he would sleep in the carriage.

* * *

The residents of Hôtel de Beauvais woke up to the sound of rain against their windowpanes.

"Of course," Babette remarked bitterly, watching the rapidly-falling droplets continue to obscure her view of the road below. "It's absurd to hope for three subsequent days of perfect weather, non?"

"I suppose that is asking too much," Bernadette agreed with a sympathizing smile, arranging her hair into a simple chignon from Babette's vanity.

Babette released an indignant sigh through her nose as she spun away from the window. "I refuse to remain locked up here for an entire day."

Bernadette watched her pace the room from the mirror. "I am sure we will not need to," the maid encouraged. "We are here to see the sights, oui?"

Babette looked to her with hope. "Do you have something in mind?"

The maid shifted on the bench to face her mistress with a hopeful smile. "If you all take a liking to it."

* * *

A few moments later, Babette glided into the salon brandishing the week's copy of _Mercure de France_ in her hand. "Messieurs, shall we bestow our presence on _le théâtre_ tonight?"

Lumière and Nicolas glanced up from their game of piquet, along with Bernadette, who was playing the onlooker.

Nicolas paused in his card dealing to grin at his fiancée and shrug happily. "I am all willingness if you are. Lumière?"

The maître d' regrettably took away his eyes from the ravishing vision of Babette, who was alight with coquettish excitement, to answer his friend. "Of course! If it is something light, all the better."

"That is precisely what I had in mind," Babette announced with a smile. "This play was just recently premiered by the Comédie-Italienne to rave reviews, called _L'Épreuve_."

Nicolas was eyeing the hand he was dealt carefully as he inquired, "Who is the playwright?"

Babette checked the gazette. "Pierre de Marivaux."

The vicomte nodded. "A man noted for his romantic comedies."

Lumière smirked as he aligned the cards in his hand. "So, very light indeed."

Babette sat in the armchair behind the footstool Bernadette was perched on, her gaze unwavering. "Do you object?"

"On the contrary!" he replied distractedly as he tried to count his cards. He felt her piercing eyes avert to the gazette on her lap, and relaxed. He focused on the game at hand. "Point of five," he said to his opponent.

Nicolas shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. "Nope."

Lumière narrowed his eyes at him, but then smirked with satisfaction. "I have two quints."

His friend's smile quickly reversed with a grunt. "To what?"

"One is to a queen, the other to a jack."

Nicolas wrote that down on the scoreboard, blowing air through his lips while Bernadette watched.

"Thirty points?" she read with wonder.

"The cheat," Nicolas muttered as he slapped the pencil onto the slate.

"How can I be cheating when I have no sets to claim?" Lumière reasoned with a chuckle.

" _Good,"_ Nicolas rebutted. "I'm glad!" He looked at his cards again. "I have a point of six and a trio of queens."

"Congratulations," Lumière said in a patronizing tone. "Nine points in your favor."

Nicolas just ignored him with a shake of his head as he wrote down his score. Bernadette turned to whisper to Babette, who was now regarding the action with interest. "Lumière won the last game eighty points ahead."

"And I plan to do it again!" Lumière announced with confidence, laying down a king of spades on the deep red felt of the table.

Nicolas raised his eyebrows in mock-surprise. "What, no aces up your sleeve?"

He shrugged. "I do not need aces to win a round."

Begrudgingly, Nicolas laid down the highest spade he had, which was only a queen. Lumière just smiled as he took that deal and set it on his side of the table.

The rest of their cards were dealt, and Nicolas had collected every deal but the first one, yet still came a point under. He avoided looking at Lumière's triumphant smirk.

Bernadette looked back at her mistress with an amused sparkle in her eye that Babette couldn't help but replicate.

Lumière's luck took a drastic turn, however, and Nicolas won the next few rounds with Lumière barely managing to accrue enough points to stay a moderately close second. It wasn't long before Nicolas became quietly confident and poised while Lumière continued shooting deadpan glares in his direction.

At their game's conclusion, Lumière threw his hands up in surrender, his jaw tight. "It is very apt for you to call _me_ the cheat. I suppose it takes one to know one, eh, _mon ami?"_

Nicolas only calmly gathered the deck and wore a secret smile. "You are only acting vexed because there are ladies present."

This only furthered Lumière's indignation, more likely than not for the fact that Nicolas was right. Through his rebuttals, Nicolas only seemed to be humored by his old valet's attempt at insults, a feeling Babette shared. It was rare to see the maître d' so flustered by something so trivial, but she knew based on what both men have told her that they enjoyed baiting each other like school children. Only friends as close as these two could do so and remain on the best of terms.

Babette leaned forward to murmur in her maid's ear, "As though the theatre has come to us, non?"

Bernadette's hand shot to stifle the giggle that threatened to breach the surface.

* * *

After insisting, Lumière was granted more chances to get the better of Nicolas at cards, though the viscount had offered to play whist. Babette had politely declined in favor of reading near the fireplace while Bernadette continued her role as an entertained audience to the gentlemen. It wasn't until a couple more games had passed, and after Lumière had been soothed by some victories, that the bustling of work being done in the dining room and kitchen breached Lumière's ear.

"Of course!" he exclaimed. "Marc will be our fourth!"

Nicolas laid his cards face down before standing. "I will fetch him if Bernadette would be kind enough to finish our round for me."

Bernadette blinked up at him before smiling. "It would be my pleasure, monsieur."

Nicolas drew up his chair for her before having her seated. "There you are. Merci!" he acknowledged with an incline of his head.

Before Nicolas stepped past him, Lumière tried his best to ignore another imperceptible wink thrown his way, which caused a fleeting spike of irritation. He had to be sure to stop Nicolas from angling Bernadette toward him, for Marc's sake if not his own sanity.

He patiently watched Bernadette thoughtfully arrange the cards in her hand before prompting, "Have any cards to exchange?"

She glanced up in surprise. "Oh! Do I go first?"

"You are the elder, at least in this scenario," he informed with a one-sided smirk.

She smiled back before pursing her lips as she looked over her hand. "I must discard five?"

"At most, yes."

A moment later, she carefully plucked five cards from her hand and laid them aside faces down, taking up five more from the talon pile. Her posture straightened as her eyes glimmered at her new cards. Lumière did the same, having to be amused at how easily Bernadette's expression could be read.

"Point of four," he said.

She quirked a dignified eyebrow. "To what?"

He rubbed his chin to hide a creeping smile. "A king."

Bernadette shook her head. "Not good. Sequences?"

"Unfortunately not."

She bit her lip and shifted excitedly in her seat. "Sets?"

He eyed her with playful suspicion. "Only a trio."

A giggle became caught in her throat as she tried to remain serious. "Not good enough."

"Oh really?" Lumière said, leaning forward on the table. "Then please, enlighten me on why that is, mademoiselle."

"Well, first," Bernadette said with delight, "I have a point of five to an ace, a tierce, a trio of queens, and a quatorze…" She leaned forward to whisper triumphantly, "Of aces!"

As the maid laughed, Babette finally looked up from her novel to see Lumière collapse against the back of his chair in defeat as he clutched his heart in that melodramatic way of his. Their interplay was rendering her unable to focus on what was on its pages.

"Shall I toss my cards now and spare you the trouble?" he asked.

"Non, non!" she countered in earnest. "I want to see how well you manage against a hand carrying all of the aces."

He gawked as Bernadette suffered from another fit of giggles. "Have you not already been witness to enough of my defeats? But fine, as you wish!"

Babette observed them carefully, trying to discern to what extent this friendship of theirs had gone.

Lumière wasn't paying Babette any mind to make sure she was watching, so it wasn't for the benefit of Babette's jealousy—not that it would work like it had before; She was a woman betrothed, after all. But what were Bernadette's thoughts? Was something more than affection growing in her? She was acting so open and unreserved, a complete reversal from the shy, timid personality Babette knew her to be. After so little time, Lumière had gotten her to be entirely at ease around him.

 _How?_ She tried to refocus on her book, but the question kept cycling in her brain like a broken wheel.

As swiftly as she could, she set the book aside and stood to leave, but Bernadette caught her before she had made it around the chaise. "Mademoiselle?"

"Do not mind me," Babette replied as Lumière's gaze also fell on her. She felt heat begin to rise to her cheeks. "I'm stepping out for a bit of air, just in the courtyard."

She gave a curt nod and swept out of the salon before she could see either of them wonder if there was something wrong. Perhaps there was, but all she knew was that she had suddenly become hot sitting by the fire.

And that was the only reason she would allow herself to have.

Bernadette blinked at her mistress's abrupt departure, but despite her concern, breathed a shallow sigh and kept herself from pursuing. She returned her attention to the cards in her hand.

Lumière turned his eyes from the doorway when she laid down her first deal. He followed suit before tentatively saying in a hushed tone, "Bernadette, may I make a… _slightly_ intrusive inquiry?"

She smirked at him as she collected the draw. "What do you wish to know?"

Distractedly, he lined his cards into a tiny deck and tapped it on the felt. "Would there be any reason, at least to your knowledge, for mademoiselle to… rebuff Nicolas?"

She was caught by the word. "Rebuff him? Non, not at all!" Continuing with the motions of the game, she soon pursed her lips in thought. "However… from what I have observed, she seems… quite nervous about their engagement."

He furrowed his brow. "She has no reason to be. Everything about a marriage to Nicolas is advantageous."

"I would think so, too," she said before mustering a helpless shrug. "I am not sure why she feels that way. She refrains from speaking much about her feelings on the subject—or any near it for that matter," she ended on a defeated note.

 _Babette has told her nothing?_ Lumière considered heavily. He couldn't help but be disappointed.

Yet, as his mind whirred, he soon realized that though Babette should have Nicolas, Bernadette, and her parents to confide in, none of them knew the entire truth about her. She did not truly have a confidant. She was carrying the burden of all her secrets alone, and she had so many to keep track of.

Understandably, Nicolas couldn't be told everything due to her initial lie about going to a convent instead of the château—though her reasoning for telling that lie in the first place still evades him. The same could be said about the Chantemerle when it came to her relationship with Lumière, though they undoubtedly had suspicions upon their brief introductions last Christmas. But why continue to isolate herself when Bernadette could be that person she speaks to freely?

Lumière did not have much time to ponder that before Nicolas entered the room with Marc just behind. Since Bernadette had been collecting draw after draw, the viscount had instantly taken note of the maid's jubilant façade.

"How did you fare, mademoiselle?"

Bernadette slapped down the last card in her hand to claim the final deal of the round. "Well," she began with reclaimed poise. "If I counted correctly, my score for this round was…" She checked the slate. "Forty-eight?"

"Did you now?" Nicolas appeared delightfully dumbfounded. "And you, Lumière?"

The maître d' shook his head, looking to be at a loss for words. "It was certainly not forty-eight."

Marc stepped forward, smiling down at Bernadette as he took her hand in reverence. "If that is the case, may I be granted the honor of being your partner for our next game?"

Teeth and eyes sparkled back up at him, and the footman was dazzled. "I would love to, Marc."

As Lumière celebrated internally at Marc's tactfulness, Nicolas turned to him with grandeur and offered his hand. "Shall we let bygones be bygones in the name of our legendary partnership?"

Lumière firmly took it in the same fashion. "What would the world be without it?"

Taking a seat across from his friend, Nicolas glanced by the fire, frowned, and swept his eyes around the room. "Where's Babette?"

"The courtyard," Lumière answered casually before Bernadette had hardly opened her mouth.

Nicolas eyed him doubtfully. "In this weather?" he replied as a soft roll of thunder was heard over the continuous rainfall.

"She said she was getting some air," Bernadette assured.

"Oh." Crossing his arms, Nicolas watched Lumière deal the cards to each of them before he shifted in his chair. "Did she seem well?"

"She is fine, Nicolas," Lumière said with an undertone of finality. "I am sure she only wanted to stretch her legs."

Nicolas seemed to reluctantly resign to that logic and remained seated. "Right. Of course."

Feeling the sudden dip into an awkward tension, Bernadette regarded them warily as they adamantly stared at their cards. With a plea to break the silence in her eyes, she looked to Marc. He straightened in his seat as nonchalantly as possible and placed his elbows on the edge on the table.

"So," he prompted as he laid down the first trick. "Bernadette…" He cleared his throat when Bernadette met his eyes again. "How do you like Paris so far?"

Having clearly not expected him to ask her a direct question, she stammered a reply. "Oh! Well… Where do I begin?"

Lumière smirked at the exchange as she continued, with Marc's encouragement, to profess her elated opinions on her experience thus far. He saw Nicolas smile at her excitement before glancing to the salon door again, as though anticipating Babette's return.

 _The feeling is mutual,_ Lumière replied silently. _But let her be for now._ With as much as she must maintain, secrets and composure alike, the least she needed was space to gather her thoughts.

* * *

Right at the brink of shelter, Babette was leaning against a pillar supporting the second-floor balcony, watching the heavy rain splash and pool onto the cobblestone.

It was funny that many times during the day, she craved to be alone, but somehow, she always forgot what being alone entailed. Her thoughts just never seemed to subside. That was exactly what company was for: Distraction.

 _The_ right _company,_ Babette corrected with snort.

' _Only three weeks_.' It had barely been a week and she had reached her breaking point. The tension she felt when he was in the same room as her… Her nerves were frayed from the constant strain.

It didn't matter what he did, what he said, or how he acted. All of it constantly reminded her of who she was misleading, who she had failed. She had wanted to be a good daughter, friend, and fiancée, but she was none of the above. She had disappointed all of them, even if they didn't know it yet. Her heart ached for many reasons it seemed, but no other reason caused greater pain than that.

 _There will be a right time,_ she promised herself. _When it is safe again, I will confess everything and then…_

She faltered. It was the right thing to do, to come clean, and she couldn't wait for that day.

But would that ruin the trust between her and Nicolas for good?

Heaving a sigh mingled with a groan, Babette stared at the thick, gray clouds above. Had the rain lightened since she had been outside?

She moved a hand into the curtain of droplets, letting them hit her open palm and drip off her fingers. _Only by a little,_ she concluded. Compared to feather-light snow, rain fell like pebbles.

She enjoyed watching rain, but she could sit at a window all day and watch snow drift down from the heavens.

After shaking off the excess water, she rubbed her hands together to mix what was left, appreciating its coolness while it lasted. She glanced at the solid walnut door leading inside, unsure of how long it had been. Still, her feet remained planted.

 _A few more minutes,_ she bargained. Leaning her head against the pillar behind her, she closed her eyes, letting the sounds of the storm drown out her worry and unease.

* * *

 _A/N: For the purpose of this chapter, I actually taught myself how to play piquet and whist through free tutorials and simulators, including a piquet app for Android that I now enjoy on occasion. When I first got it though, I was addicted to it for a week. No joke.  
_

 _On another note, I'm taking a gap year between now and fall of 2020 before I begin grad school, so maybe chapters will become more frequently published! Hurray!_


	17. Becoming Familiar

_Chapter Seventeen: Becoming Familiar_

 _Two Months Prior…_

 _February, 1740_

After a couple more weeks of meetings, both sets of parents had observed Babette and Nicolas enough to notice the glances and secret smiles they would exchange in the parlor or at dinner. They even caught Nicolas whispering something under his breath near Babette's ear, and she had to keep from letting her laughter be heard. Apparently, their children now had their own inside jokes!

The matriarchs, Clarisse and Augustine, were delighted by this turn in events. They all agreed that continuing their parental supervision was now only hindering the young ones' relationship, so at Babette's request, her parents allowed her to visit La Bazolle unaccompanied.

Snow lightly fell as Babette watched from the cover of her carriage. Glancing at the empty seat across from her, she couldn't recall when she had last sat in it alone.

Wrapping her cloak around her like a blanket, she stretched her legs and kicked her feet up onto the seat like she had always tried to do since she was seven-years-old. Though it was brief, she felt she had to revel in something she could never do while her parents were in the car.

She smirked, satisfied, as she relaxed against the corner of the carriage.

Once they rounded the drive of La Bazolle, Babette quickly stepped out into the cold.

"Madame and monsieur will have a carriage for you tonight?" her middle-aged coachman checked from his perch, nodding at the grand estate.

"Oui, they will arrange a ride home," she politely informed. "Enjoy the rest of your night, Firmin!"

Firmin grinned, his laugh lines prominent. "You as well, miss! But I suppose I don't have to tell you that."

She smiled back, shaking her head at his teasing. "Only if you do not mean it."

Chuckling, Firmin shook the reins and the horses high-stepped back down the drive.

Before she even raised her fist to knock, one of the doors had opened to allow her in.

" _Bienvenue_ , Mlle de Chantemerle," the majordomo, Renaud, greeted with a grin. "I am overjoyed that you could join us on such short notice."

"I am only glad you could accommodate me without much warning," Babette humbly countered as she handed him her cloak.

"Naturally, _ma chère_ mademoiselle! We could hardly ever refuse a request to have you among us, especially…" he suggested, but at how Babette cocked an eyebrow, he slyly shrugged it off. "Well, no matter. Messieurs et madame are in _le petit salon_." Renaud gestured off the foyer with a slight bow.

Trying to hide a smile, Babette murmured a thanks before she took to the wide hall off of the foyer towards the open doors on the right as Renaud followed.

In the salon, the cold, white light of the snow from the frosted windows framed the warm glow of the hearth, and blurred the silhouettes of the de Créquy as the three of them stood to greet her.

"Ah, Babette! So wonderful that you could join us!" Augustine exclaimed with a radiant smile as Babette entered the room. "Please, sit down over here by the fire," she went on with enthusiasm. "I'm sure you're a bit chilled from the drive here. Would you like something to drink?"

"No, madame, but thank you," Babette acknowledged with an incline of her head.

At her response, Renaud closed the salon doors, and she went to the armchair on the left of Nicolas and across from Augustine and Étienne on the chaise. When she was passing Nicolas, they exchanged small, discreet smiles.

As she sat down, the rest of them followed. Augustine kept her back straight and alert while her husband went back to the position he had probably been in before: relaxed against the back of the chaise with a foot crossed over his knee.

He took a sip of his brandy as Augustine inquired, "How is the weather faring? Has the snow picked up from this morning?"

"Non. It is still a gentle snowfall," Babette cordially replied. "I was watching them cling to the windows on the carriage. I always try to find snowflakes that look alike."

"That's a bit of an impossibility, isn't it?" Nicolas asked with a wry grin.

" _C'est vrai_ ," Babette admitted with a shrug. "But when you are driving alone… well, perhaps this is only true for me, but I must find something to pass the time."

"Oh no, you're not alone, dear," Augustine assured with a wave of her hand. "I must do the same the majority of the time as I never seem to have others in the carriage that are much of conversationalists," she explained tiredly as she eyed the two men.

Nicolas' dimples appeared as his father spread his hands, feigning offense. "I beg your _pardon_ , dearest wife of mine, but I never have had much to say about who could possibly be Mme de Blanchefort's wigmaker."

An image of an ostentatious old widow who insisted her wig was her own hair, yet it would begin to slide off of her head during hot, summer days without her noticing, came to everyone's mind. They all had to laugh.

Augustine tried to round up her giggles to be sympathetic. "The poor woman does not even have her husband to vouch for her or… even let her know the wig was not placed properly. No one says a word!"

"We've told you to let her know yourself, if you were so concerned," Étienne reminded rationally.

His wife looked appalled. "And embarrass her? That would be so insensitive! It is clear she is self-conscious enough, wearing a wig that large in the first place."

"So the cycle begins," Nicolas noted with a shake of his head.

"And she still wonders why we're not much for conversation," Étienne directed to Babette with exasperation.

Augustine rolled her eyes as the boys chuckled. "Remember well, Babette. During days like these, I wish I had a daughter to ally with me."

Babette wore a bright smile. "While I am around, I will make sure you do not stand alone."

Mme de Créquy released a few laughs. "I am very much obliged to you, _ma chère._ "

Étienne smirked as he said, "Then I'm afraid you will have to be here on a daily basis, Babette, to keep the odds even."

"I think you forget, _père_ , that I am not always aligned with your opinions," Nicolas politely reminded. "I agree with Maman on occasion."

"And I revel in those moments!" Augustine proclaimed with glee. "I only wish they occurred more often."

Not a second after that was said, Renaud appeared at the door. "Dinner is served, mistress."

"Marvelous!" Augustine said as they all stood. "I do hope you came hungry, Babette."

"Conveniently so, madame," Babette assured with a grin.

Renaud opened the door as Augustine led the way out with Étienne close behind. As Babette came level with Nicolas, he extended his arm for her. "If I may, mademoiselle, escort you to dinner," he insisted with a slightly overdone inflection that made Babette let out a giggle or two.

"Oui, monsieur, and as always, the pleasure is all mine," she responded in a similar manner before they followed after his parents.

* * *

In their private dining room stood an ebony table that sat six. A small, intricately carved fireplace centered the wall behind where Babette was seated, and a lit silver chandelier hung above them.

Augustine and Étienne placed themselves at the heads of the table while Babette and Nicolas sat across from each other between his parents. A meal of stuffed pheasant with cranberry sauce, steamed vegetables, and fresh bread were brought out for each of them.

The gentlemen seemed content to halt discussion as they ate, but Babette could tell Augustine was racking her brains for a topic of conversation to prompt everyone.

At the continued silence, Babette was about to become resigned to her meal, but Augustine then voiced a bit hesitantly, "Babette… I suppose I shouldn't be the one to pry but—"

"Then _don't_ , Augustine," Étienne warned with narrowed eyes.

"Well, I believe that this is something we should discuss sooner rather than later," Mme de Créquy reasoned with an air of entitlement, and Babette felt the pheasant begin to curdle in her stomach.

Augustine turned more directly to Babette and inquired, "Your parents had informed us of your time away from home—"

"Mother, please," Nicolas insisted with an unexpected amount of authority.

" _Hush_ , dear. I promise this is not an interrogation," she assured him, then looked to Babette and said more gently, "This is only my curiosity getting the best of me, _chère_ , you are not under trial."

Her words were meant to comfort, but Babette felt little of it. She nodded and mustered, "I understand. Please," she gestured for her to proceed.

Augustine smiled at her consent. "Merci, _chérie._ Well… I have to say I have always been curious as to the goings-on and inner workings of a nunnery."

Babette tried to hide a sigh of relief, though she knew she was not out of the woods yet. She thought rapidly on a plausible back story as she asked politely, "What in particular do you wish to know, madame?"

"Oh, um… perhaps the routines of them," Augustine worded with thought. "The day-to-day sort of things, if you would not mind humoring me."

Babette mirrored Augustine's grin with a sincere smile. "Of course not, madame." She glanced away as her mind whirred as she gathered all she knew about convents, carefully orchestrating her work of part-fiction, part-truth.

"Well…" she began with false confidence. "We would all gather for prayer in the morning, at sunrise, noon… and evening at sunset. In between those times in the chapel, those with more seniority either continued their prayer in their rooms or studied scripture in the library."

"A library?" Augustine repeated, very intrigued. "I did not know nunneries had libraries. I had heard that was more of a monastery necessity."

"Yes, of course," Babette agreed, feeling as though her corset had suddenly tightened itself. "From what I know, you are not wrong, but the convent's library was very small, exclusively scripture and holy readings, since—though some of them could read—not all of the nuns were taught."

"Indeed!" Augustine remarked. "It is fascinating that though social class no longer has meaning there, it still carries its influence."

Babette could only affirm with a nod, but the countess resumed with interest, "And as a temporary resident, what was required of your stay?"

Feeling a little more prepared for this question, Babette replied, "Since I was one of the younger residents, and since I did not take any holy vows, I spent most of the time cleaning the convent: dusting, polishing, waxing floors, anything that they asked to be cleaned. I would even help in the kitchen with dishes and such."

"Oh, my dear! You must have felt like a fish out of water!" Augustine sympathized. By then, the men had become interested enough in the conversation to pause in eating.

"That was true, at first," Babette confirmed, just noticing the attention. She tried to maintain her dignity though her cheeks were flushing. "But I became accustomed to what was expected. I admit, the… transition from that lifestyle back to this one has been… more difficult than I assumed it would be."

"I can only imagine," Augustine murmured, her eyebrows knit in concentration before she straightened in her seat again. "I would have to say… that you deserve respect all the more for how well you've adjusted coming to and from such circumstances."

Babette gave her a meek smile. "Thank you, madame."

As the countess' eyes fell away to her plate, Babette did the same, afraid to make any more eye contact with the rest of the table.

After a moment of silence, Augustine took a deep breath and declared, though her plate was only half-eaten, "Well! I think this is the perfect time to call for something a little sweeter, don't you think?"

She nodded to the servant standing at attendance before he swept into the kitchen. He returned with slices of apple tart for each of them as Mme de Créquy carried on about how refreshing it was to have fruit in the winter.

Steadily becoming more relieved that the previous subject had been dropped, Babette dared to look across at Nicolas, but his eyes only went between his mother and his plate. With a tiny glance at Étienne, she found a little reassurance from the respectful smile he directed her way.

Once dessert was finished and cleared away, they went to return to the salon for evening tea. Upon entering it, all of them noticed the windows were encrusted with frost and snow. Though it was dark, clumps of flakes could still be seen blurring past the glass.

"My, my," Augustine tutted, hurrying forward for a closer look. She paused as she inspected the outside before informing, "It is quite a flurry out there."

Babette's insides receded. "Perhaps the storm will stop or at least have slowed within the next hour," she willed.

"That's possible," Augustine said with an attempt to be positive, "but there might not be road to drive on by then."

"No, there won't," Étienne corrected from the other window. "It appears we are all snowed in for the night."

At Babette's blanching face, Augustine assured, "This is of no concern, _chérie_. We will provide you a room for the night, it's no trouble."

Babette hesitated in her response. "Are you sure?"

"Oh, naturally, my dear! I wouldn't _dream_ of allowing anyone to brave a storm like this one. And your parents, I'm sure, will understand after just a glance out of their windows."

On that, Augustine shut the curtains to falter the cold from breaching the room while Étienne followed suit.

Babette went to exchange looks with Nicolas, but he had already turned his head.

Uncertainty began to cloud her thoughts, and persisted throughout the next hour with Augustine leading the conversation. Étienne encouraged what he could, and Babette added to it when necessary, but Nicolas, though he appeared to be listening, remained silent. The former maid found herself watching the mantel clock as her discomfort persisted.

 _I cannot wait to take this damn corset off_ , she thought bitterly.

Finally, it was a few minutes past nine before Augustine announced that it was time to turn in. They all stood as one, and Nicolas went to kiss his mother goodnight on the cheek before he nodded to the other two. His eyes were apologetic to Babette, but she only caught a glimpse of it before he swiftly departed.

Renaud entered a second later to fetch the tea tray, but was ordered by Augustine, "Renaud, could you please lead Mlle de Chantemerle to the northeast guest room?"

After a small bow to his mistress, he gestured to Babette. "Right this way, mademoiselle."

Rather eager for privacy, Babette didn't hesitate in following him. After grabbing a candelabrum from just outside the salon, Renaud led her up the stairs and to the left. The halls were familiar to her from weeks before, but she was too entrenched in her thoughts to attempt to recognize anything.

As they came to a fork, a movement did catch her eye. At the end of the hall, she saw Nicolas shut his bedroom door.

She pursed her lips. This visit had not been what she had expected.

Renaud walked in the opposite direction, and after a final look at Nicolas' doors, Babette kept pace with him. He opened one of the double doors and stepped aside for her to enter.

On first glance, the guest room reminded her of her own room at home. There was a four-poster bed, along with a wardrobe, vanity, a fireplace, and even a small balcony. The only difference was that the style of the furniture and décor were grander and had more intricate craftsmanship.

 _Augustine certainly has fine tastes,_ she remarked.

While she was taking in the room, Renaud lit the candles on the nightstand and vanity. "I will return very shortly with a nightgown for you," he said graciously. "Will there be anything else you need for a good night's sleep? Tea, more pillows… warm milk?"

Babette had to laugh. "Non merci, Renaud, but I appreciate your offer."

"Of course, mademoiselle," he replied with a bow and smirk before he left the room.

Eyeing the balcony, Babette approached its doors and moved the layer of sheer curtains aside. The chill creeped through the fogged glass, but it actually felt soothing on her hot skin. Wiping at one of the panes with her sleeve, what could be made of the balcony was coated in several inches of snow, and counting.

A sigh clouded her view again, and she resigned to pulling the sheer as well as the velvet curtains closed. The sight of the piling snow drifts was only making her anxious.

It seemed melodramatic to feel trapped, especially under such wonderful hospitality, but Babette couldn't explain how she felt in any other way. At least at home, she could drop formalities. But here, she had to maintain them until the moment she set foot on her threshold again.

That dinner had also exhausted her, as lying always did. She of course should have been more prepared to be inquired about her time away from home. How could she expect Nicolas' parents to not want to learn more about his betrothed? All the same, she preferred not to think about her past, imaginary or otherwise. She felt even worse about having to lie; she admired Étienne and Augustine very much, which had been far beyond her expectations before she had met them.

Babette was leaning on the bed when Renaud returned. He had swiftly laid a nightgown on the end of the bed, bowed good night, and left her before she had properly retracted herself from her reverie.

Finally— _hopefully_ —her privacy was secure until morning. She hastily changed out of her dress and heavy petticoats, leaving her chemise on for warmth before slipping on the négligée. It was made of silk, fell to her ankles, and had long winged sleeves—like her mother's.

Gratefully climbing under the covers, she turned to blow out the candle on her nightstand, but Babette found she could not release her breath. Sighing into her pillow, she realized there was something still niggling at the back of her mind.

 _Nicolas._

He had been the precise reason she had visited, yet she had hardly spoken to him this entire evening. Something had also clearly bothered him at dinner and had affected his mood for all the time after. Was it about how she had replied to his mother? She couldn't recall anything offensive or crass in how or what she had said.

Ma foi, _I will not be able to sleep for a second,_ Babette renounced with a groan. _I have to speak with him._

Reminders of propriety scolded her, but she refused to listen. This was more important than what the social construct stated.

Ripping off the sheets, she rolled out of bed, grabbed the candle, and hurried to the door, beginning to delight in this venture already. Carefully turning the handle, she cracked the door open to glance down the hall. The lamps had been put out, but from watching it for a minute as her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could not detect any movement but the flurry from the window by Nicolas' bedroom.

Letting the candle lead her way, Babette tiptoed into the hallway. Still no movement arose.

Her heart was beating rapidly, and she smirked at the sensation. It was so refreshing to be breaking the rules again.

Staying on her toes, she danced to the fork in the hall and halted at the corner to peek around it. With nothing to be alarmed of there, she resumed her path until she was at her destination.

She lifted a knuckle to knock, but hesitated. Only those allowed to see each other in their night clothes were married couples. What if Nicolas thought this was rude and improper of her to be coming to him so late _and_ dressed that way?

She shook the thought from her mind. _I am covered from head to toe,_ she reasoned. _If anything, Nicolas would be surprised…_ pleasantly _surprised._ Babette had learned that he was as unconventional a thinker as she was. He followed the rules because he thought it was best, not because he truly believed in them.

Having convinced herself, Babette firmly knocked on the door. After a moment, there wasn't an answer, so she tried once more to be safe.

Still, he didn't answer. As the silence grew, so did her doubt. Pouting her lips, she began eyeing her own door down the hall.

Then she heard a clicking before her and faced it to see the knob turning. The door stalled, but was soon opened wide. As she had predicted, Nicolas was caught off-guard.

"Babette?" he whispered with widened eyes. "Is everything all right, is something wrong?"

"No, no, everything is fine," she calmed, smiling at his concern. "Do you have a moment to spare?"

Nicolas' eyebrows shot into his hairline. "Oh!" he uttered, purely surprised by this request, but he recovered quickly as he dryly joked, "Well, it would seem you have caught me at a convenient time." He stepped aside for her to enter. "Please."

"Merci." As she crossed the entryway, she saw that he had a few candles lit around his chambers, along with a blazing fireplace.

She stopped in the center of the room. "Are you as sleepless as I am?" she observed with a sideways glance in his direction.

Having followed, Nicolas shoved his hands into the pockets of his dressing robe and shrugged. "I suppose. I was reading to try and tire myself."

"Something boring, or something interesting?"

Nicolas grimaced in thought. "Something dramatic, perhaps on the verge of cliché."

"So… a little bit of both?"

They grinned at each other as he chuckled. "Oui, oui…"

As they both averted their eyes, there was a minute where the only noise was the crackling fire before Nicolas cleared his throat. "Would… you like to sit down?"

"If you do not mind me staying for more than a moment," she offered, not wanting him to feel obligated.

"No, of course not," he assured. His dimples were more pronounced from the firelight.

He allowed her to precede him to the chaise by the fire first. She took a seat on one end, but he went to the armchair furthest away from her.

"Are you still afraid I will bite?" Babette asked, trying not to giggle as she set her candle on the side table next to her.

Nicolas tilted his head in a deadpan stare. Her giggle was released anyway.

With a smiling pout, she entreated, "Please do not make me shout across the room." She patted the middle of the chaise as she curled her legs under her. "I promise it is just as comfortable next to me."

After an exaggerated sigh, he warned, "If it isn't, I do not think I will be able to trust you again." He begrudgingly stood up and came to sit in the middle of the chaise while Babette rolled her eyes at his teasing.

Babette leaned back against the armrest as Nicolas faced her, leaning an elbow on the chaise's back and his temple on his fist.

He patiently waited for her to speak. "So… to what do I owe this late night visit?"

Her smile slipping away, she shrugged feebly. "How are you?"

Nicolas grinned, approving her answer's simplicity. "I have been better," he replied softly.

"So I have noticed," Babette remarked, lifting an analyzing eyebrow.

He sighed, eyeing her intuitively. "And you are here to ask why."

"An astute observation, monsieur," she applauded with a small smirk.

As an excuse to avert his eyes, he nervously ran a hand through his dark brown hair. "I… I'm embarrassed."

Babette inclined her head in confusion, her brow knitting. "Why would you be embarrassed?"

"My mother," he brusquely responded, shaking his head in annoyance. "I told her—I _insisted_ —that she should not attempt to pry into your past, that it would make you uncomfortable if she did, but… _clearly_ , she did not listen."

Babette wasn't sure whether to be surprised or touched by this information. "You were upset with your mother?" she checked.

"I'm so sorry about dinner," Nicolas beseeched with that same apologetic look he had given her earlier before he faced the fire. "I thought if I spoke another word, it would be one against her… I will have to remind her later. Hopefully next time, she will not let her curiosity get the best of her."

Babette's jaw had been dangling at this explanation before she could utter, "Nicolas, I thought _I_ had upset you somehow!"

He watched her with bewilderment. "Why on earth would I be upset with you? You did nothing wrong!"

She shrugged again, looking to her fingers playing with the fabric of her négligée on her lap to hide her blush. "I could not make eye contact with you after your mother had asked about… the convent."

Sighing, Nicolas explained, "I was too mortified to risk meeting your eyes. I felt guilty enough as it was." His expression full of concern, he said, "I am sorry that is what I made you think!"

"Nicolas," she impressed reassuringly, covering his hand with her own. "You have no reason to apologize. Your mother did not offend me in the slightest. It is only…" She retracted her hand as she murmured, "I have never discussed the convent before, so I was unsure how to even put my time there into words."

He paused thoughtfully before he insisted, "Nevertheless, she should have come to the conclusion that it was a sensitive subject by the way you reacted." When she opened her mouth to speak, looking alarmed, he hurried to say, "Not that it was entirely obvious, Babette, truly! You took her questions with grace."

Taken aback by his compliment, her worry had to fade before she could say gratefully, "Thank you."

Nicolas scrutinized her with curiosity. "For a moment, you looked surprised."

Babette watched the fire curl around its logs, hoping the glow hid the flushing of her cheeks. "Well… I have always assumed my feelings could practically be read as though they were written across my forehead."

"Really?" he blurted, but amended, "Not that I mean to argue with you, but… you seem to have such self-control."

She faced him, astonished. " _Do_ I?" Withholding an unladylike snort, she muttered, "I am considered to be much the opposite."

He smiled at her expression. "I cannot tell if you are amazed or disappointed."

Smirking back, she shrugged. "Perhaps both."

"I understand," he said, reclining more into the chaise's back. "All the fun comes from being impulsive."

Intrigued, Babette leaned a little closer. "Would you happen to know firsthand?"

"Of course!" he answered without hesitation. "I have made plenty of rash decisions in my life."

Shaking her head, she murmured with sincere wonder, "I cannot imagine! You seem much too thoughtful to be capable."

With a bit of mischief in his gaze, he said, "You would be surprised, Babette."

They locked eyes for a longer moment than usual, which Babette would have been content to revel in if the thought of that evening's dinner conversation hadn't resurfaced in her mind.

She glanced away in guilt as she brushed a hand through her loose curls. Nicolas knew nothing about her past, yet he was willing to never learn, to never pry if the cost was her discomfort.

But her past… _was_ her.

Babette would not be the woman she was without her rebellious years. Her time at le Château du Lac—or "convent"—had made her realize how much she had grown from them.

That was important to mention, wasn't it?

Then again…

 _Nicolas has not mentioned anything telling outside of his family,_ Babette reasoned. _Perhaps there could be something beyond what he displays._

She bit her lip before she began, "Though you may be content to never inquire into my past affairs… I am afraid now I cannot be so satisfied."

Nicolas raised an amused eyebrow. "Cannot or will not?"

With an ambiguous shrug, she added, "You may decide for yourself. I am known to be too curious for my own good."

"So…" he asked with a teasing grin. "A little bit of both?"

They both chuckled before Nicolas admitted, "I suppose I have been discreet when it comes to my past transgressions."

"Transgressions?" Babette exclaimed with playful shock. "You do not mean… _Non!_ I do not believe it."

Nicolas rolled his eyes, but by the way he was smiling, he looked like he was trying not to laugh. "What else did you think I meant by 'rash decisions?'"

"But I didn't think you meant—!" Babette gripped her mouth in mock horror as the thought took hold. "Could it be you got into—dare I speak it, _trouble?_ A man of your _impeccable_ reputation?"

Unmoved by her gasps of awe, he grumbled, "Are you finished?"

She dropped her hand to reveal her coquettish smile. "You said you were easy to tease. I was putting that to the test." Her expression became sympathetic though her smirk remained. "You poor man! You were not exaggerating."

Nicolas laughed. "Well, I suppose that is where that story begins." He rose himself more into his seat as he gazed towards the hearth, considering how to start as Babette looked on with a quiet eagerness.

"When I was very young, about seven or eight years of age… I began to take notice of what was beyond my little bubble of bliss; having myself dressed by others, fed by others, driven by others, all of whom I simply expected to be there, and had never really given much thought to."

He rolled his eyes at his naïveté. "It's a shame it took me so long but… One morning, I went to practice riding, and our stable master, Monsieur Achille, reminded me afterwards to be sure to water my horse. I grabbed a bucket, took it to the water pump little ways outside of the stables, held the bucket up to the faucet, and pumped the lever." He blinked as though he was seeing it again. "Little did I expect to have a toad hop out of it! I screamed, the bucket went flying, and I found myself sprawled on the ground with water dripping down my front."

Lifting a finger as though at a noise, he continued, "Then I heard someone laughing behind me. I turned, and I saw a scrawny blonde boy on the ground behind a haystack, clutching his stomach and laughing so much he could hardly catch his breath." He shook his head at the memory and went on. "I called out to him, though I was still shocked at what had happened. He looked at me and shut his mouth instantly, stood up and ran away with a devious little smile still on his face."

Leaning forward, he emphasized in hushed tones, "And that was when I realized that I had seen him before. He was the boy who helped serve our meals!" He shrugged. "I did not know what to make of this prank he had pulled because… I had never been pranked before," he said with a humble smile. "So I did not say anything about it to anyone. And… he noticed, and was grateful."

"Because you did not tell anyone about his prank?" Babette inquired with interest, entertained by his storytelling methods.

"Precisely," Nicolas confirmed. "And… from then on, we were inseparable." He sighed through his nose, reflecting, "My first and closest friend was also my first and most incessant teaser."

Babette smiled as she asked, "What is his name?"

With a too familiar kind of charm, Nicolas recited, "Jean-Luc Lumière."


	18. Dinner and a Show

_Chapter Eighteen: Dinner and a Show_

The sound of a door opening jerked Babette out of her daydream. She spun around to see Nicolas in the doorway.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"No, I lost track of time," she assured. "I very much needed to be startled."

He smiled at her playful grin and came nearer. "Do you like watching the rain?"

She hummed in thought before replying, "When my mood allows."

A flash of concern passed over his eyes. In a quiet, gentle tone, he inquired, "Is everything all right?"

Babette met his gaze, pressing her lips tight. He was only getting better at discerning when her guilt-induced thoughts plagued her mind, yet he never showed or expressed any expectation that she need speak about them.

She wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder, instantly feeling the stability and protection he exuded.

Nicolas tensed from the unexpected embrace, but he soon reciprocated it, and warmly. She sighed as contentment eased her anxiety-ridden shoulders. The sounds of rain seemed to fade if only for a moment, and a relaxed silence permeated the air around them.

How did she become engaged to so good a man?

Before her guilt could rear itself again, Babette pulled away and managed to smile for him. "Everything is fine," she murmured.

She touched his cheek and turned to head inside. It was subtle, but she could tell by the look in his eyes: He didn't completely believe her.

* * *

"After you, oh generous patron!"

At such a grand entreaty, Nicolas glanced away from trying to meet his fiancée's eyes to look at the maître d'. He had to smirk as he came out of the carriage to his friend's level. "Is that what I am to you now?"

"In public, very much so," Lumière bluntly replied, mimicking his manner.

Nicolas quirked an eyebrow at him. "You understand that when I said I would pay for everyone's dinner, you are exempted from that offer."

All humor dropped from Lumière's expression as shock took its place. "At what point did I become deserving of such malice, _mon ami?"_

Unphased by this reaction, Nicolas stated, "When you lost our bet the night before last, you agreed you were going to buy _me_ dinner."

Lumière nodded while rolling his eyes a little at the viscount's smile. " _Alors_ … All right, I shall pay my debt tonight." Gripping his friend's shoulder, he added, "But remember that you are allowing a servant that was once under _your_ employ, pay for the dinner of a man whose pockets are lined with gold— _and_ , I may add, has a vast inheritance awaiting him when he takes his father's mantel."

"Ah, yes," Nicolas remarked, patting the hand on his shoulder. "Thank you for reminding me."

Behind Babette, Bernadette bit her lip to withhold a giggle as she stepped onto the damp cobblestone.

Luckily, the rain had stopped, which had prompted a modest amount of traffic on the streets and sidewalks. One of them, a neatly dressed gentleman sauntering by, looked on them with a charming smile. He touched the tip of his tricorne hat. "Bonsoir, mesdames."

"Bonsoir," the ladies returned with demure inclinations of their heads.

The gentleman continued walking, but Nicolas' and Lumière's attentions didn't leave the monsieur's back. It was Babette's turn to hide her oncoming laughter. _Such men!_

A clearing of a throat was heard from above. "I'll be waiting in the stables, monsieur," Marc announced docilely.

The passing gentleman forgotten in that instant, Nicolas cried with sincerity, "Like hell, you will! Park the carriage, but you will be joining us inside, and that's an order."

Marc straightened in his perch, beaming. "Yes, sir!"

Shaking the reins, he trotted off to stable the horses. Then both men took their respective ladies' arms and the remaining quartet walked into the tavern.

Babette peeked at her betrothed through her long lashes. "Afraid I will be stolen away?" she whispered.

Nicolas eyed her coquettish smirk, but couldn't offer a reply before the hostess approached them. Babette had seen his attempt to hide a smile.

* * *

Upon request, the hostess led them to a private dining room with a tastefully set table and a stone fireplace at its back. The party was brought pitchers of ale and wine, along with a fine roast mutton, stewed vegetables, and cakes with jam. Nicolas sat at the head, with Babette on his left and Lumière at his right. Bernadette sat next to her mistress, and when Marc arrived, he had chosen to sit beside her, to Lumière's approval. Babette had noticed Marc's actions and faintly wondered on them, but the thought soon evaded her, having already been well into her second mug of ale, which she downed swiftly before grabbing the pitcher once again.

Nicolas nudged his friend in amazement. "Have you ever seen a woman take to drinking with such relish? Miraculous!"

He intended to be overheard, and Babette knew it. She eyed her fiancé as an enticing smile graced her mouth. "Such pitiful company you must keep beyond our little circle, _chéri._ "

"I must," Nicolas agreed. The way she looked at him caused his cheeks to redden, yet he coyly grinned back.

"Interesting," Lumière spoke up. Though he had drunk about the same as Babette, his senses instantly grew keen at this display from the couple in front of him. "I do not recall a woman who drinks to be anything remarkable."

"As well it shouldn't be," Babette acknowledged. "But unlike most well-bred ladies, I can take pleasure in what drink does in relaxing my inhabitations." She then almost snorted from a half-stifled laugh. "Although, I know for a _fact_ I am no rarity. Resentful mesdames and scorned mesdemoiselles surely do so with abundance in the privacy of their _magnificent,_ pillared châteaux," she said.

"Well-spoken," Nicolas toasted. He and Babette clanged their mugs and took swigs of their contents. She giggled as she set down her tankard.

Lumière then prompted, "As you seem so acquainted with them, being one yourself, then please, pray, enlighten us about the riveting secrets of aristocratic ladies!"

He had consumed a little too much liquor to keep the sarcasm from his tone. Babette narrowed her icy blue eyes at him and huffed with indignance.

"You _would_ like to know, wouldn't you?" she remarked flatly. Leaning into the back of her chair, she took her tankard and sipped from it, staring at him from over its rim.

"Oh, come now, no need for that!" Nicolas mildly chastised. Babette pursed her lips, clearly unaccustomed to being addressed by him thus. "I am curious as well. What is something we gentlemen would never guess about you and your fellow mesdemoiselles?"

Babette lifted an eyebrow. "And for my cooperation, what will I receive in return?"

"You propose a bargain," Lumière observed in mock-awe, "when the worth of what you carry is in question? Behold! A trait of ladies that is certainly no secret."

"Have you ever paused to consider the reason behind that particular trait, monsieur?" Babette snapped. "It is because women have so few opportunities at holding the cards that they will not squander their hand so easily nor so soon, for the slim chance that they may hold the superior one over a man's."

"What fate is woman's," Lumière mused with a shake of his head, "when they cannot even comprehend the power they truly hold over men? I promise you, mademoiselle, speaking as a man, you hold the cards far more often than you would like to admit."

Babette sneered before she sipped her ale, but Nicolas added ominously, "Lumière speaks the truth. Though we dare not confess it even to ourselves, it is _des femmes_ who rule the world."

Mlle de Chantemerle mumbled something along the lines of "nonsense" as she poked at her dinner with her fork.

Lumière honed in on the pair next to her, who, though mere inches from Babette's elbow, appeared to be a world away; Both faced each other with nearly their whole bodies, engrossed in their own private conversation.

"Would you agree, Marc?" Lumière broke in, his forethought now absent. He was trying to prove a point to the ridiculous girl across from him!

Marc glanced up, wide-eyed with confusion, as did a blushing Bernadette, who remembered her place and straightened herself in her seat. Lumière purposely ignored this observation as he stared expectantly at the footman.

"I beg pardon… What are you discussing?" Marc asked, scratching the back of his head as his ears flushed.

Patiently, the maître d' repeated, "Who really rules this world: _la femme ou l'homme?"_

" _La femme,_ of course," Marc answered without batting an eye. Bernadette glanced at him, wearing a small, appreciative smile.

Babette watched Marc for a moment, brow furrowed, and turned her eyes on the two men before her. "Based on what evidence?"

Lumière wanted to thrust his hands at her and cry, _Exhibit A!_ But he somehow managed to resist the impulse.

Instead, Nicolas spoke. "Is it not obvious? For centuries, Western society has stripped power away from women by forcing you all to be dependent on men. Otherwise, you would get along quite well without us."

Babette laughed, relieving her features of her skepticism. "Is that what _all_ men believe?"

"Those willing to admit to it," Nicolas said before resuming his drink.

She then laid her critical gaze on the reserved man across from her. "And is that what you believe, monsieur?"

Lumière shrugged. "It makes the most sense, does it not?"

"Oui," Babette replied. " _Too_ much sense."

"We are afraid of your potential," Nicolas said matter-of-factly, though the smirk on his face gave away his attempt to tease. In a low, godly voice, he added, "'Thou hast tempted Adam, therefore thou shalt be governed and restrained by Adam.'"

The whole table had to laugh at the way he put a common man's philosophy.

"What a terrible reason!" Babette exclaimed.

"But we are harmless!" Bernadette cried.

"Oh, now, I would not say _that,_ " Babette murmured to her with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. "But feel at liberty to make them believe it true."

Bernadette giggled and motioned that her lips were sealed tight.

"Afraid of us, you say?" Babette pondered aloud before taking Nicolas' hand. "I know that you, _chéri,_ would never believe we pose any real threat."

Nicolas grinned at the adorable way she pouted and batted her lashes. "Of course! I welcome a lady's perspective," he said, nodding also in Bernadette's direction, who sat a little straighter in her seat and looked delighted.

Again, Babette's stare instantly became captious as she met Lumière's. He arched an assured eyebrow, knowing exactly the kind of question that was coming.

"And what about you, monsieur?" Babette inquired in an innocent tone, though her eyes said the opposite. She rested her elegant chin on a thoughtful hand. "Do you find anything to fear from women?"

"You all have great influence on even the most resilient of hearts and minds," Lumière admitted as a one-sided smirk grew on his lips, "but I am not afraid of you. Like M. de Créquy, I, too, welcome a woman's perspective. In fact, I have made it a lifelong hobby to become more and more familiar with a woman's thoughts and feelings."

"With all their hills and valleys?" Babette pointedly observed.

The abrupt remark truthfully caught Lumière by surprise. Though she may have been causing him to take offense, he chuckled instead. "Naturally, mademoiselle."

Amazingly, Babette was trying to hide a smirk. It suddenly occurred to Lumière, _Had that been a_ tease?

"Same as you," he annexed casually before sipping from his mug.

A couple laughs escaped her, briefly knitting her brow at his remark. " _Pardonnez-moi?_ I have no need to prod a woman's mind. My own opinion is quite enough."

"Precisely my point."

For a moment, Babette's lips were slightly parted as though about to speak, and yet she couldn't decide how to respond. The others around them waited with bated breath, quite enraptured with their sudden debate. Even Nicolas was looking on with great amusement.

A tinkling giggle escaped the viscountess, the kind that can only be emitted by alcohol's influence. Her eyes were stormy and alluring as she said, "You _are_ bold in your replies, monsieur!"

"As you are in your questions."

"I must be if I am to obtain any honest answers."

Lumière leaned on the table, a playful smirk on his mouth, as he said, "Be wary, mademoiselle. The truth can be hard to face."

Babette mimicked him. "I have handled myself well so far."

"And if your own methods were used against you?"

"I can improvise."

"The truth?"

"Only what I want others to know."

He barked a laugh. "So you _do_ have something to hide!"

Babette breathed sharply. "Of course not!" she said, but a tremor went through her words.

"Lumière," Nicolas scolded, as taken aback as his betrothed. "Really! Be civil."

Lumière hardly realized what he had truly said until an accusatory expression had grown more prominent on Babette's darling features. He had nearly forgotten they weren't alone. It had all been merely banter, like before. But it had happened so fast, his tongue hadn't been able to keep up with his common sense.

 _Damn it all,_ he chided to himself, and pushed his tankard away. One step forward, two steps back, thanks to his thoughtlessness.

"My… sincerest apologies," he stammered, almost too ashamed to look Babette in the eye. "That was…" _Unwarranted? Impertinent? Idiotic?_

With a quick glance at the clock on the mantel, Lumière stood, nervously smoothing his cravat. "We should leave for the theatre soon. Allow me to prepare the carriage."

As he hastily made his departure, Marc called, "I will join you."

The maître d' glanced back only briefly. "Merci, Marc."

Marc gave a quick bow of acknowledgement to his master before following Lumière out of the private dining room.

After checking to be sure they were well out of earshot of their party, Marc murmured, "Are you feeling all right?"

What Lumière could feel was that his dinner and drinks churned in his stomach and his heart was cringing most painfully. Regret. He definitely felt regret, coupled with every other reaction to causing harm to one's beloved.

Keeping his eyes forward, he took a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm both. "If it is all the same to you, I would rather not discuss what I'm feeling."

Marc pressed his lips together, nodded, and didn't pursue the subject.

They harnessed the horses in silence, which gave Lumière some time to mull over his next strategy. He knew now, without any question, that he could not be in Babette's poor opinion any longer. He had to become on companionable terms with her again, or he wouldn't last. Speaking to each other in this underhanded way as though they were strangers… it was driving him insane.

He had to talk with her alone and set everything straight. Tonight.

The gears in Lumière's brain began to turn.

* * *

 _Unbelievable!_

Just when Babette thought they had been enjoying some refreshing banter, he had struck once more, hoping to make her expose herself in front of Nicolas. He had lured her into a false sense of security… _again._

She could hardly fathom it. Since she had arrived in Paris, he had become so obliging, had been trying to express his remorse. He had apologized to her for his conduct—she had recognized it instantly while at the café the day prior—and he had spoken with such sincerity. No matter the reservations she had tried to keep against him, they had begun to crumble under his tender gaze from that moment on.

Her suspicions were only confirmed in his consistent and natural behavior towards her, almost as though it was merely a continuation of the easy rapport they had established while in Château du Lac. Surely, he must have resigned his own doubts about her union to Nicolas in favor of peace and a renewal of their friendship. As much as she had denied it for weeks, she missed his company terribly.

She had been testing him all the while, and each time he had bowed humbly to her, or, like at this past dinner, provided her answers that had rung with his usual candor. What a brilliant scheme. She had fallen for it head-over-heels.

He was no longer a friend to her, and he would never be again.

A dull, throbbing pain took residence in her heart. She couldn't continue to foster hope that Lumière would approve of her marriage to his dearest friend. Why, she couldn't even look at him from the other side of the carriage!

Babette took a deep breath to stem the wave of tremors that suddenly rose inside her. She adjusted the shawl around her shoulders.

"Are you cold, Babette?"

She turned to see a concerned Nicolas watching her. "Non, I only felt a brief chill—"

"Here." Nicolas had swiftly taken off his coat while she had been trying to protest and placed it around her shoulders.

Babette's cheeks grew rosy. Naturally, this would instantly remind her of the last time a monsieur performed this particular act of chivalry for her, and she certainly had no wish nor the patience to recollect it, or any similar to it. _Men and their coats…_

It was hard for her not to show Nicolas had actually done her a disservice, but she managed to say, "Merci," while granting him a meek smile before facing the window again.

It only took a few minutes to arrive at the theatre, l'Hôtel de Bourgogne. From the front, it looked to be over four stories tall, and very grand, indeed. At the entrance, well-to-do audience members filed through any of the three pairs of double doors that were flanked by proud stone statues of griffins with folded wings.

"Shall we?" prompted Nicolas before he reached across Babette to open the door. She took the cue and let him hand her down to the pavement. Before Lumière could do the same, Babette had offered Bernadette her hand to assist her down the carriage's rung.

Lumière shot a glance at his friend, who calmly gestured for him to proceed after them. Reading perfectly well Nicolas' impassive expression, the former valet pressed his lips together and did as he was bid with Nicolas following.

Babette linked arms with her maid, claiming her for herself, as Nicolas gave Marc instructions for their return home. Lumière was too thoroughly wrapped in his thoughts to properly bid the footman farewell before the carriage had pulled away.

With the women taking the lead, the four of them joined the crowd into the theatre's open doors. The chatter of attendees awaiting the start of the show filled the dim foyer. Some had grouped into the corners and by the fires with drinks in hand to catch up on the gossip of the town and offer their opinions of the play's prospective entertainment. The rest headed to the main floor of the theatre or up the stairs to their seats. While Babette and Bernadette were admiring the regal décor around them and the high painted ceilings above, Lumière tapped Nicolas' arm with the back of his hand.

"Wait a moment," he said at a volume he made sure would be out of the ladies' earshot.

Nicolas raised his brow critically in vague surprise. "Oh, really?"

" _Yes,_ " Lumière compelled, and guided the viscount out of the way of oncoming theatergoers. He glanced at their convoys before he said, "I did _not_ intend to censure Mlle de Chantemerle."

"Did you?" Nicolas retorted, more of his frustration coming through his stoic exterior. "I am sorry, I find that hard to believe, especially when you have once tried to convince me she was a liar."

Lumière grimaced at the reminder. "Clearly, I was not of sound mind in either event," he pressed more urgently. "We were drinking! More irresponsible slips of the tongue have occurred." He steadied himself with a quick breath. "That is not to say I do not regret what I said. I did not mean for it to sound like an accusation."

"Well, that is precisely how she took it," Nicolas reminded. "I expect you to properly apologize, for _all_ your misconduct. That includes the first day you were introduced."

His tone was stern, but Lumière could tell the viscount's anger with him had started to diminish. "As of now, that is my first priority."

Nicolas nodded, mostly satisfied. "Good."

"And I will do so as respectably as is possible…" Lumière smiled slyly. "In private."

Nicolas looked at him askance, having to grin himself. "Even for you, that is rather aspirational, non?"

Lumière's expression brimmed with a plan. "You will see, _mon ami."_

Just as Babette was eyeing them with some suspicion, he patted Nicolas on the shoulder before they joined the women. She hid her speculations when she met her fiancé's eyes, and she took his arm while Bernadette took Lumière's. Together, they climbed the impressively wide staircase to their boxes.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Like the _Concert Spirituel _chapter, I've prepared another performance for the next chapter, which involved a_ ton _of research and prep, but I think it was worth it. Stay tuned!_


	19. What Happens at the Theatre

_Chapter Nineteen: What Happens at the Theatre…_

The hall was similar to Salle de Cent Suisses, with a cherubim-dotted celling and velvet-lined boxes, only this time they were scarlet. Gold filigree ornamented them, and Grecian statues hung in the corners and edges of every lofty surface, including above the stage. The box they resided in was eye level with the raised stage. Others of nobility and stature sat across from as well as above them, and the common folk sat on the main floor, filling the space with an almost deafening chatter.

Their seating arrangement was repeated from the concert at Tuilleries, with Lumière between Bernadette and Nicolas, and Babette sitting on the other side of the vicomte. Lumière was too distracted to do more than exchange a few words with Bernadette, who soon recognized he was figuring out a strategy. Knowing this might be precisely what he had spoken with her about the day before, she took to keeping herself alert for his instruction in whatever form it may take.

On the other hand, Mlle de Chantemerle, in her eagerness to keep herself composed until curtain-up, took all of Nicolas' attention for her own as they perused the program together.

"Let us see what kind of farce we have stumbled into," Babette said as she found the page labeled, _Synopsis._

She noticed that particular words were capitalized, and so she cleared her throat and read in an elaborated accent,"'When _Lucidor_ , the son of a wealthy _Bourgeois_ and the _Head_ of a considerable _Fortune_ , fell ill in the _Country,_ a _Family_ of honest and middle-class _Country_ _Proprietors_ took him in. The young _Girl_ especially, _Angélique_ , took special _Care_ of _Him._ _She_ is a charming young _Lady_ —one _Lucidor_ would be happy to _Marry_ —but before offering _Her_ his _Hand,_ _He_ would like to know if _She_ loves _Him_ or his _Fortune_ …'" She eyed her fiancé. "What are your thoughts, monsieur?"

His lips trembled, but Nicolas did well to keep a straight face. "Could you read it again? I do not think I caught all of the _emphases_ the first time."

With a huff, she exclaimed, "As though I could _repeat_ a performance that brilliant!"

"Are you sure we did not stumble into a farce of our own?"

Babette mirrored his smile. "Not quite. But _vraiment_ _, chère,_ what is your impression?"

His eyebrow rose. "Honestly? I think the problem could be easily resolved with a simple question. But then there would not be much left for a show, would there?"

"Oh, please! Ask a mademoiselle a _question?"_ Babette chastised with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "When has a woman ever given a straight answer, hm? Of _course_ the only way to be sure of a mademoiselle's true feelings is to trick her into telling you what they are. This has been proven to be the only foolproof method, monsieur, I assure you!"

After a moment, Nicolas took his hand away from his mouth, his dimples prominently on display as the remains of his laughter died. "Naturally, mademoiselle. How foolish of me to think otherwise!"

"I should say _so,_ " Babette murmured with an offended air. As she returned her attention to the program, she had to smirk in triumph at how well she could leave Nicolas in stiches.

Soon, incidental music cued the start of the show, and a backdrop of a respectable salon was revealed, along with a chaise and other matching furniture. The audience steadily quieted before two handsomely dressed gentlemen walked onto the stage.

The monsieur with a cool, confident bearing spoke first. " _So, you're just arriving?"_

The man who accompanied him seemed to have an excitement in his gait and energy about his features, and replied accordingly, " _I have just landed at the first Hôtellerie du Village. I had asked for the road to the Château as you had instructed in your letter, and here I am, your preferred confidante!"_ He elegantly turned in place while looking eagerly to his companion. " _So? What do you think? Do you recognize your_ _ **valet de chambre?**_ _Do I not perfectly look the part of a lord?"_ He smoothed his cravat, his expression almost smug.

His master nodded in agreement, and teased, " _You are almost respectable!"_

The crowd chuckled as the valet visibly deflated and scowled. Lumière nudged his friend. "Why, look! It is practically us in costume!"

Nicolas laughed.

The valet, named Frontin, changed the subject. " _At present, what do you plan to do with me and my handsome attire?"_

His master, Lucidor, responded casually, " _To offer you as a husband to a very amiable girl."_

Frontin's mouth dropped in rapture, and looked like he wanted to embrace him. " _ **Tout de bon! Ma foi,**_ _monsieur, I must insist you are even more amiable than her, whoever she is!"_

Amused, Lucidor didn't hesitate to correct him. " _Ah non, you misunderstand. It is_ _ **me**_ _whom she regards."_

Disappointed a second time, Frontin waved his hand as though he wanted to shoo Lucidor away. " _In that case, I will not insist on anything again."_

The audience found that humorous as well. Nicolas then asked Lumière, "So… which one are you?"

"Do not think I act like the valet character merely because I was yours."

"But… don't you?"

As Lumière was about to utter a swift rebuttal, he received a withering stare from Babette, but he refused to be phased. He only smirked at her and shrugged with a nonchalance he knew she would find irksome before he returned his eyes to the stage. Even though Nicolas sat between them, he could feel her growing irritation radiate from her.

" _You know that I came here nearly two months ago to see the land that my businessman bought for me,_ " Lucidor was reminding Frontin with a stifled anticipation. " _In my newly claimed château, I found a Madame Argante, who seemed like the housekeeper, and who is a little_ _ **bourgeoise**_ _of this country. This good lady has a daughter, Angélique, who has charmed me, and it is to her that I wish you to propose marriage."_

Frontin laughed, visibly impressed. " _For this girl you love, your plot is salacious! We shall therefore make three,_ " he determined suavely, his insinuation difficult to ignore. " _You treat this plight as though it were a game of piquet."_

" _Bien,_ fine," Lumière muttered begrudgingly. "In this case, I _would_ play the valet."

Nicolas snorted because he had been thinking the exact same thing. Babette again turned on them, hissing, "Do you mind?"

Guiltily, Nicolas pressed his lips together, but he gave his friend a sly look. What he had neglected to mention to his fiancée was that they normally conducted themselves in this way during plays. In their silent exchange, they agreed that in truth, Babette was playing well the part of Nicolas' theatre-loving mother.

Babette managed to resist rolling her eyes at the two schoolboys beside her and looked to the actors once more.

" _Mark me,_ " chastised Lucidor with abstinence. " _I intend to marry her myself."_

With a smirk still full of innuendo, Frontin patted his master on the shoulder. " _I hear you loud and clear: After_ _ **I**_ _have married her."_

" _Will you let me finish?"_ Lucidor snapped, his sterner tone snapping the valet out of his daydream as chuckles from Frontin's comment rang around the theatre.

Frontin dropped his head at the reprimand, and Lucidor sighed. Hugging Frontin's shoulders in camaraderie, he informed, " _I will present you as a rich man and my friend to see if she will love me enough to refuse you."_

" _I see…_ " Frontin said, mulling over the idea as he wandered a little across the stage. " _But tell me, monsieur, would you tolerate a small criticism?"_

Lucidor eyed him, a one-sided smile visible as though he wasn't surprised. He shrugged and crossed his arms. " _I suppose."_

With precise wording, Frontin delicately said, " _Though barely in the prime of your age, you are altogether wise and reasonable."_

Lucidor nodded in thanks.

" _ **But,**_ _"_ the valet continued, and Lucidor rolled his eyes as the audience chuckled, " _it seems to me that your plan is very…_ " He pinched all his fingers together and looked to the beyond before stating bluntly, " _Lacking."_

Lucidor's face dropped instantly into a deadpan expression. Giggles ensued while he looked about to retort.

As Frontin looked at him expectantly, Lucidor divulged with growing vulnerability, " _It is true that Angélique is only a simple_ _ **bourgeoise**_ _of the country, but she has meant much to me from the start, and I do not have the contempt others of my rank would hold for her because of that."_

Stepping forward, Lucidor sincerely smiled as he faced the audience, his expression alight with adoration. " _She is, moreover, so charming, and I can discern, through her innocence, so much honor and so much virtue in her. She is naturally so distinguished in character, that if she loves me as I believe, I shall never be with anyone but her."_

From his newly acquired seat on the chaise, Frontin cleared his throat, an eyebrow quirked. " _I am sorry,_ _ **if**_ _she loves you? Has that not been decided?"_

Lucidor grimaced and shook his head. " _No. I have never told her that I love her, but all of my manners have meant that—all of them were expressions of the most ingenuous inclination."_ He took a seat by his friend, his mien thoughtful. " _I fell ill three days after my arrival. I was even in some danger of…"_

Gazing at Frontin with meaning, he drew a finger over his throat. Frontin looked aghast. " _I have seen her worried—alarmed—more so than I was. I have seen tears flow from her eyes, without her mother catching a glimpse, and since my health has returned, we continue in the same way."_

Frontin seemed to sympathize as Lucidor continued, " _I still love her, without telling her. She also loves me without telling me anything about it, or realizing it herself, and I want to keep it a secret. Her simple, honest, and true heart knows no more."_

" _But since you know more than she, why do you not put a little word of love forward?"_ Frontin asked, baffled. " _It would not spoil anything."_

" _It's not time,_ " the nobleman said. " _As sure as I am of her heart, I want to know how much I owe of my own, and whether it is the rich man, or me alone that is loved. This is what I shall clarify by the test I am going to put her through."_

"Diabolical," Lumière murmured in admiration to Nicolas. "But may I say 'genius' as well!"

"I wonder if this was written from personal experience," the viscount whispered back.

The maître d' grinned. "If not, this will certainly inspire similar experiences to occur, more so by women than men."

"Why do you sa—Ow!"

Nicolas recoiled his left arm and wondered at Babette, but she was glaring at Lumière, and clearly seething. "Stop encouraging him," she censured.

Looking to Nicolas a little more kindly, she imparted, "I am trying to listen."

Her betrothed bowed his head slightly in shame. "Of course."

Lumière met her eyes again for good measure and made sure not to look at all apologetic. Babette couldn't bear to look for more than a second or she would have been sorely tempted to throttle him.

The play went on: Lucidor enlisted a thirty-year-old landowner named Blaise, a greedy and opportunistic bootlicker whose rapid change of mood amused the skeptics in the crowd, to propose to Angélique as part of his "test." The nobleman also instructed Blaise to flirt with Angélique's attractive maid, Lisette, for a fortune. The poor maid was amazed and vastly irritated by Blaise's impertinence, and Babette giggled in sympathy for her. It was even funnier when Lisette had to withhold her laughter from Blaise's ridiculous excuse for flattery.

As understandable as Lucidor's "test" was for a man in his position, Babette found that the humor the rest of the attendees felt from this farce was falling rather flat on her sensibilities. Count on a man to think a woman only after riches and power, despite her showing nothing but altruistic love and devotion. When it came to marriage, weren't money and status always going to be considered in some way, even if love dominates any other desire? It is only natural for a woman to think of all the merits as well as disadvantages to a match. No one, including women, can survive on love alone.

Soon, Lucidor's intended graced the stage, and she was a lovely and innocent vision indeed. She seemed like a bride already in the way she was carrying a fresh bouquet of field flowers in her hands. As Blaise attempted to make her swoon, Angélique rejected him with surprising and hilarious bluntness, yet the actress managed to say so in a still charming manner. Not offended in the slightest, Blaise made his exit.

Angélique then asked her maid, " _Is it true, Lisette, that someone came from Paris to see M. Lucidor?"_

" _Oui, to my knowledge."_

The young lady thought on this, getting a worried look on her pretty features. " _Is it said that he was to take him to Paris when this someone arrived?"_

Lisette shrugged. " _That is what I do not know. M. Lucidor did not tell me anything, except…_ " She paused thoughtfully. " _He spoke about a very grand marriage. He says his friend is a man of the world, but monsieur does not say who he is, nor when this man will come to introduce himself."_

With childlike anticipation, Angélique inquired, " _Did M. Lucidor really talk about a husband?"_

Conspiratorially, Lisette leaned closer. " _Oui, of a distinguished husband with a considerable establishment."_

Angélique mimicked her maid's smile. " _Very considerable, I suspect!"_

" _Oh? What do you suspect?"_ Lisette asked in mock-innocence.

Angélique ducked her head. " _I would blush too much, if I am wrong."_

" _Would it not be, by chance,_ " Lisette insisted knowingly, " _that you imagine him to be the man in question, the rich and grand monsieur that he is?"_

" _Well! Him!"_ Angélique exclaimed, her adoration of Lucidor bubbling over only for a moment before she stopped herself. " _I do not know what I mean. One dreams, one lets their thoughts wander, and that's all._ " She took a deep breath. " _I will see about this husband; I will not marry him without seeing him."_

" _When it is one of his friends, it is always a grand affair,_ " Lisette commented with a smirk.

"I like this maid character," Nicolas noted. He gently nudged Babette as he added, "She reminds me of you."

Babette managed a smile in return but said nothing. Truthfully, she thought the same, but she found that fact disturbing.

 _Well, this Angélique is certainly not like the one I know_ , she observed. If she ever saw her friend Angélique as love-struck as her stage counterpart, Babette would never let her forget it.

She grinned at the reminiscence, but a sadness accompanied it. Why had she decided to cut off all connection to the castle? _How is she doing?_ she wondered.

Out of reflex, she glanced over at Lumière. He would be the one to ask, if she felt any compelling notion to speak with him alone.

 _Never again_ , she promised. If she felt so compelled, she would rather write a letter to her friend. Babette made sure to stow away that idea for later.

On stage, Lucidor entered and Lisette departed, leaving the two lovers to themselves.

Under Lucidor's consideration, Angélique grinned more widely, touching her cheek to indicate her blush. " _What are you thinking of, considering me with such seriousness?"_

" _I am thinking of how you make every day brighter,_ " he replied.

Pretending not to hear the tenderness in his tone, she said factually, " _Not when you were sick. By the way…_ " Her eyes darted to what she held still. " _I know how much you love flowers, so I made sure to pick for you this little bouquet. Here, monsieur. Take it."_

Lucidor stepped closer to cover her hands that clasped the flowers, and a similar memory flashed across Babette's mind: Her embarrassment at interfering with Lumière's feud with the real Angélique, his teasing demeanor becoming soothing to calm her choler, and her heart pounding as his warm hands covered her fingers as she gripped her freshly-cut bouquet from Queen Beatrice's gardens.

A potent stab speared her heart, catching her by surprise. Babette's grip tightened on the arm of her chair as a dull pain rose up to rest behind her eyes. She took a deep and discreet breath to stem it. _Focus, focus…_

" _I will take it only to return it to you,_ " Lucidor disclosed. " _You would give me more by allowing me that pleasure."_

Starry-eyed, Angélique clutched the bouquet to her chest. " _And I, from this moment on, like it better than before._ " Checking herself, she cleared her throat. " _Pray, what did you want to speak with me about?"_

Lucidor straightened as well. He placed his hands professionally at his back. " _To give you testimonies of how highly I regard our friendship, provided that above all you will teach me the state of your heart."_

Angélique bit her lip to keep her smile from growing too big. " _Its state will soon be known. I will not be telling you anything new; Take away our friendship, and you know well, there would be nothing left in my heart."_

Her artlessness softened Lucidor's features once more. " _How you speak makes me so happy, that I almost forget what I have to say to you… Ah, yes._ " Resolute, he declared, " _I intend for you to have a husband."_

Angélique's eyes grew wide, saying aside to the audience, " _Is it possible? Oh, my whole heart beats so quickly!"_ Willing to play along, she spoke to Lucidor. " _Does… he stay with you?"_

Lucidor smiled. " _Oui, Angélique. We are in the same house."_

" _That is not enough. I dare not be comfortable with any confidence kept from me,_ " she stipulated. " _What kind of man is he?"_

" _A very rich man,_ " he replied, as if that answered all questions.

Angélique set her arms akimbo. " _That is not what I meant. That comes afterwards."_

Lucidor quirked an eyebrow but went on. " _He is my age and size."_

Angélique beamed, satisfied. " _Good. That is what I wanted to know."_

But Lucidor continued to watch her closely. " _Our characters are similar, and he thinks like me."_

" _Even better and better! I love him already,_ " she said, breathless with excitement.

" _He is a man who is just as unified with me as I am him."_

" _There is nothing more I could want."_

" _Who has neither ambition nor glory, and who will not demand anything of whom he marries, except his heart."_

" _He will have it, monsieur, he will have it!"_ she cried in ecstasy, practically bursting with tears of joy. " _He already has it. I love him as much as you, neither more nor less!"_

Lucidor took her empty hand. " _You will have his, Angélique, I assure you. I know him. It is as if he tells you himself."_

Angélique looked up into his eyes adoringly. " _Oh, without a doubt! And I answer as if he were here."_

A chuckle escaped him as he placed his other hand over hers. " _Ah, if his current mood is any indication, you will make him happy."_

" _I promise you he will not be the only one,_ " she stage-whispered.

A blissful moment of silence between them proved that the entire theatre was enraptured. Angélique looked to Lucidor as though he had given her the world. As endearing as it was, Babette felt a sense of dread creep into her own stomach.

Lucidor managed to grin in response. " _I cannot wait to talk to your mother, to have her consent. Before I leave you,_ " he said, releasing her hand to dive into his inside jacket pocket, " _accept from me this little wedding present which I have the right to offer you, according to custom and as a friend._ " He pulled out a dark velvet box, and its contents sparkled upon its opening. " _They are_ _ **petits bijoux**_ _from Paris."_

" _And I take them because they are from you. But it was not necessary to bring jewels._ " Angélique took the box and cradled it, but barely paid its contents any mind. Her next words were tender. " _It is your friendship that is the true one."_

He looked away so the audience could see a sign of his doubt. Regaining his composure, he directed to her, " _Adieu,_ _ **ma chère**_ _Angélique. Your husband will not be long in appearing."_

" _Run so that he may come faster,_ " she bid.

He bowed nobly to her before he backed away and hurried off-stage.

Lisette entered and rushed to her mistress's side. " _Well, mademoiselle? Did he tell you? Who will you marry?"_

Angélique clutched her maid's hand. " _It is him, dearest Lisette, it is him I will marry!"_ She danced away, her arms spread wide in elation before she looked eagerly toward the wing Lucidor exited. " _And now I wait for him to return."_

Lisette crossed her arms. " _To him, did you say? Who is 'him?' Is he here?"_ she asked, following Angélique's gaze.

" _You will meet him,_ " Angélique added, in a trance. " _He has gone to find my mother."_

Lisette watched her carefully. " _I only saw M. Lucidor, and… he is not marrying you."_

Angélique faced her maid. " _If necessary, I will repeat it to you twenty times! If you knew how we talked to each other, how we got along without him saying…_ " She took her concerned maid's hands in hers. " _He asked me. Oh, it was so clear—_ _ **so**_ _clear, and so pleasant, so_ _ **tender**_ _—"_

Lisette hushed her. " _Look, here he comes again."_

Angélique spun around to see Lucidor and Frontin approach in strides. She tilted her head slightly like a confused puppy.

 _Oh, you poor girl,_ Babette mourned.

" _I return,_ _ **belle**_ _Angélique!"_ Lucidor announced. " _While going to your mother's house, I found that monsieur had arrived, and I thought there was nothing more urgent than to bring him to you. It is he: the husband for whom you are so favorably prejudiced, and who is in fact another version of myself. He also brought me the portrait of a young and pretty mademoiselle in Paris whom he has recommended I marry."_

"Oo's" penetrated the crowd at seeing this "test" officially take fold.

"The plot thickens," Lumière muttered to Nicolas.

To add salt to the wound, Lucidor presented the small framed picture of this fabricated Parisian woman to a stunned Angélique. " _See for yourself."_

The young _bourgeoise_ stared blankly at the portrait as Lucidor looked to her expectantly. " _What do you think?"_ he prompted in a casual way that irked Babette more than ever.

Angélique turned away, shell-shocked. " _I do not know myself,"_ she mumbled.

Doing his best to remain in-character, Lucidor put away the picture and said, " _Adieu. I leave you together, and I run to Mme Argante's._ " He hesitated, sincere concern breaching his demeanor as he watched Angélique, and stepped forward. " _Are you well?"_

Without answering or looking at him, Angélique thrusted the jewelry box out for him to take. Lucidor blinked, tentatively putting his hand out, and she shoved the box roughly into it. Taken aback, he glanced between her and his intended gift. His mouth stiffened before gripping it tight.

Babette watched him depart in defeat. _Just what he deserved._

"Brava," Lumière admired.

Anger flared in Babette's breast. She leapt from her seat and pierced the maître d' with a searing glare. He met her eyes with mild surprise, as though daring her to call him out.

At recognizing this expectation, Babette's words caught in her throat. Setting her mouth, she took her leave.

"Babette, are you-? Babette!" Nicolas called, but she ignored him and stomped through the box's curtains.

Nicolas faced Lumière, who was already on his feet and straightening his jacket.

"I will take care of it," his friend assured.

Nicolas sighed begrudgingly, and reminded, "I am counting on you to do what is right and honorable."

"Trust me," Lumière said, his infamous one-sided smirk on display. "Your fiancée will still be yours when all is said and done."

He turned to Bernadette, and gave her a wink. The maid, though still anxious, granted him a small smile of permission.

With that, he swept out of the box.

* * *

Babette strode down corridors lined with lavish décor of deep scarlet and gold. The halls, lobbies, and staircases were thankfully deserted save for a sparse few ushers. She paid them no mind in the hopes they wouldn't inquire after her.

Her corset grew tighter as she walked, and her desperation for fresh air almost overpowered her frustration and distress. Being constantly reminded of what she had lost due to circumstances beyond her control had driven her to get out of that damn box. How could she handle being in the same room with Lumière for _days_ longer? Why had she agreed to see this ridiculous play? She almost regretted having wormed her way into joining this entire trip.

Finally, by the third floor, she found glass-paned doors leading outside. She gratefully pushed through them.

Crisp, spring air greeted her like an old friend; it caressed her hot, irritated skin like a salve. Such a release that she couldn't remember feeling in a long time allowed her lungs to breathe.

She took easy steps to the balustrade as she beheld the view. The clouds had started to break, and the sun was at its golden hour. Hues of orange and purple coated the sky and crested the chimneys and tiled roofs that made up the horizon. As Babette watched, the sunlight dimmed as it sunk below the buildings.

Leaning against the stone railing, she gazed down the avenue toward the Seine. She angled her head to try and hear its currents from where she stood, but only the wind and faint sounds of horses' hooves and footsteps met her ears.

A footstep was heard that seemed much closer than the rest. Then the doors behind her were shut.

She started and spun around, her eyes immediately drawn to a pair of familiar greys.

"May I join you?" Lumière asked in that cavalier manner only he could achieve. Babette's fingers itched to strangle him.

She groaned, clinching her fists. " _Mon Dieu,_ must you follow me at _every_ opportunity?"

"Clearly, I follow you without intending to," Lumière replied with aggravating logic before shrugging. "So, I figure… Why fight it?"

Babette could tell he found this humorous, but she was less than amused. " _Go. Away."_

Lumière's smile faded, and his voice gained a softness she found disarming. "Not until we come to an understanding."

"What is left to say?" Babette snapped. "You made yourself perfectly clear how unworthy you think me of Nicolas and how _repelled_ you are by my past affairs."

He winced, but Babette kept going. "And then you continue to hang over my head that I keep secrets from him! Do you not think I suffer for them well enough on my own?"

His jaw tightened. "I regret having ever given the slightest impression that I think of you as anything less than a _nonpareil."_

She huffed a bitter laugh. "You think your candied words are going to sway me? Believe me, I have learned my lesson."

Lumière fidgeted with his cravat and swept a hand over his hair, which made Babette take pause. She could hardly recall ever seeing him do so, but they seemed to reflect feelings far from what was characteristic of him… feelings of anxiety.

"I admit," he appealed, "I resented how much information you had kept from me, as well as the amount you are having to withhold from Nicolas. It took some time and serious thought to recognize…" He met her eyes again, this time with a captivating intensity. "You are more a victim of circumstance than anything else."

She stubbornly pursed her lips, but she couldn't look away.

At her silence, he went on. "I did not mean to accuse you today. I know you can easily believe it was a foolish slip of the tongue."

"Were the words you spoke to me in Augustine's garden also 'slips of the tongue?'" she countered with sweetened venom.

He grimaced. _Touché._ "Non. But I was not yet in my right mind."

Babette raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, inciting him to say, "Since we've arrived in Paris, I am sure you were also aware of my attempts to win your good opinion once more."

"As though you ever had it to begin with?" she said with mock-surprise.

Lumière gave her a charming smile. "Deny that fact all you want, _chérie._ I will always know the truth."

After swallowing a laugh, lines appeared between her brows. Clutching her forehead, she turned away from him to brace herself on the balustrade.

His mind running a thousand miles per minute, he moved closer to be level with her. "Babette… There are not enough days in a lifetime for me to properly express how sorry I am for having caused you pain, and I will do anything I can to help put you ease."

Babette didn't move, and he could only assume he had her apt attention. He leaned his back against the rail. "As inadequate as my approval might be, I want you to know… I support your marriage to Nicolas."

She lifted her head and gazed at him in wonder. Blinking her astonishment away, she studied him for a moment. "You do?"

An iron vice tightened around his heart, but he nodded. "I do."

Indecision crowded her beautiful face. She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her temples before giving a frustrated shake of her head. "Lumière, I cannot forgive you so easily. What you said to me… the way you _glared_ at me—"

" _Chérie_ …" When her voice cracked, he rushed forward to take her hand in both of his. His heart broke at the sign of her dejection, and he cursed himself that he had any part in it. "Babette, _ma très chère,_ I wish I could erase all of that from memory."

She slipped her hand from his grip. "Well, I can think of little else, not to mention your steady attentions toward Bernadette."

"Bernadette? What does she-?" He tilted his head as his eyes brightened. A smirk began to grow on his lips. "No… Are you implying that _I…_ "

But Babette looked dead serious, and then more annoyed when he had the audacity to laugh.

"Come now, you know me better than that!" Lumière insisted.

"You are not above having your own fun with other women in front of me, remember?" Babette reminded spitefully.

"But _Bernadette?"_

Babette's cheeks flushed. "She cannot speak a cross word against you—has even expressed her concern for your well-being! Hmm…" She poked her chin in an overly contemplative pose. "Why do you think that is?"

" _Par le Dieu,_ you are worse than Nicolas," Lumière said, exasperated. "There could be nothing more platonic than my feelings for Bernadette, and she feels the same. Besides, there is another man _quite_ interested in her."

"Another man?" Babette watched him with doubt as she thought on it. "You do not mean…"

"Apart from your fiancé, is there another monsieur currently living with us? If so, please, enlighten me!"

Her expression swayed between suspicion to uncertainty. "But… you and Bernadette: She became so comfortable with you so quickly!"

Lumière spread his hands. "My _career_ is in hospitality. How can you be so surprised?"

Crossing her arms, she begrudged him that reason. He smiled before sighing. "Fine. I understand that you cannot forgive me just yet. But Babette," he gently urged, "know that I am on your side. In the days and… events to come, I hope that we can once again be friends."

He held out an open palm. "Will you accept a truce between two relentless forces of nature?"

With an eyebrow raised, she narrowed her eyes at him, but a corner of her mouth lifted. "I suppose we are, non?"

He mimicked her grin. "I would not say so if we weren't."

Pouting her ruby lips in consideration, she eyed his offered hand carefully, and for a moment, Lumière thought she was going to deny him.

Then she removed her hand from the crook of her elbow and shook his. "Truce."

He released a breath he didn't realize he was holding and gratefully clasped her delicate fingers. "Thank you."

She took her hand from his grasp to point. "Do not let me regret it. _Comprends?"_

His smile widened at she exhibited that signature passion of hers. "Perfectly."

Under his gaze, Babette couldn't help feeling vulnerable. Did he realize how tenderly he regarded her? She gripped her arms as if she were cold.

He nodded to the doors. "Shall we?"

"Yes," she breathed, taking the initiative.

He escorted her in companionable silence back to their box, and though she denied it, even if halfheartedly, she was comforted by the company.

* * *

 _When I discovered this play, **L'Épreuve** (or **The Test** ), I was able to find it in its entirety in a digital library - that is, the **original** libretto in 18th century French. _

_I took it upon myself to translate it using Google Translate, Word Reference, and my basic knowledge of French. I'm not going to lie: It was a challenge, and one of the most tedious things I've ever done. Prior to this, I was unfamiliar with French type font from back then - as one typically would be - and it just so happens that they used f's as s's, ladies and gentlemen. Why? My initial guess was that an "f" resembled the IPA symbol [∫] which stands for the "sh" sound, or in this case, a plain old "s" sound. But it could be as simple as the character of "s" was not yet established in the French alphabet - or, more likely, installed in their printing presses - at the time this play was published._

 _Whatever the case may be, I had to figure out based on context what was supposed to be an "s" versus an "f." I also had to adapt the wording and phrasing of the translations so they flowed better and made more sense in English. I did my best!_

 _I chose this play based off the year it premiered (1740, the year this fic takes place) and a pretty general synopsis on Wikipedia. I wish I could say it was carefully and meticulously chosen based on the events and characters, but its plots and personalities ended up working out marvelously well, and for that, I'm eternally grateful! I'm very pleased with the effect its elements had on this quartet of characters, and I hope you enjoyed it as well._

 _In case you're interested, I have the Google Docs link to my super unofficial transcript of the play on my profile page. Sincerely, it's a cute and funny story!_


	20. Off the Beaten Path

_Chapter Twenty: Off the Beaten Path_

Babette and Lumière reentered their box right as the curtain was dropping. The din of unanimous applause became the only sound possible. They stayed standing and began to clap along with the rest of the audience.

Hearing them join in, Nicolas glanced behind. He smiled in light chastisement and shook his head at how they had missed the rest of the show. Babette laughed while Lumière grinned back, offering only a helpless shrug.

Bernadette briefly checked on them, but what she saw seemed to satisfy her.

The actors, from least to most prominent, came through the break in the curtain, the last being the actress who had played Angélique. As a big bouquet was handed up to her, Lumière cupped a hand around his lips and yelled, "Brava!"

Placing two fingers into his mouth, Nicolas followed that with a piercing whistle that undoubtedly carried throughout the theatre. The actress looked over to their box, smiled, and granted them a curtsey.

* * *

"She was so charming!" gushed Bernadette as she summarized the last half of the play in their carriage ride home. "And such an admirable character! She refused to marry Frontin when Lucidor introduced him to her, even after her mother criticized her in front of everyone else. And _then_ she refused Blaise when he said he was only marrying her for the money Lucidor was giving him for their marriage."

Lumière raised an eyebrow. "But you say the maid ended up with Blaise?"

Bernadette shrugged. "For the money, I suppose. I wish she would have ended up with Frontin, because when they had that one moment alone, Lisette kept saying how much she adored the man Frontin looked like. I don't think he ever really fooled her!" Excitedly, she added, "You know what he said to her at the end of it all? He said…" She cleared her throat and dropped her voice to a manly register. "' _Ma reine_ , since you love this Frontin so much, and I look like him… I _want_ to be.'"

Everyone laughed at her impression as well as her attempts to act suave.

"It's not bad," Lumière remarked, "when you take his charade into consideration."

"Why haven't we ever thought of trying to pull you off as a noble?" Nicolas asked. "I keep thinking we missed some great opportunities."

Lumière heaved a dramatic sigh. "So do I… _Quel dommage!"_

"Indeed," Nicolas replied with a regretful shake of his head.

Babette studied the men across from her, a smirk peeking out from the corner of her mouth. "And what exactly would you two have done with M. Lumière in disguise?"

The old friends made eye contact, both putting on a contemplative air. They turned back, and Nicolas said, "It would be best if we did not say."

The women exchanged their shared disbelief before they giggled. "And why not?" Babette demanded.

"We would not want to risk offending either of your delicate sensibilities," Lumière simply said.

Babette rolled her eyes. "'Delicate…' I am sure!"

Bernadette audibly stifled a potential fit of tittering. To recover, she whipped open her fan to take on the look of a dignified noblewoman in the same effortless manner as her mistress.

* * *

They arrived home sometime after nine o'clock, sated, content, and relieved. Now that Lumière and Babette had come to an understanding, a little bit of a weight had been lifted off of both their shoulders. The tension that had been tightly knotted and strung between them had loosened its hold. At some point, sooner rather than later, Lumière would like to feel that tension completely dissipate, and he actually had the hope it would, if he kept up his good behavior… at least when it mattered.

Upon entering the hôtel, Lumière bid Marc to turn in while he cleaned up for the night. He was basking in more optimistic reflections when they were disturbed shortly by the kitchen doors opening.

He looked up in surprise, but just as quickly became chastising. "Bernadette, go upstairs this instant. I will not allow my chivalrous act to become redundant because you insist on being unfailingly helpful. Now, shoo!" he commanded, and whipped the towel he was drying dishes with in her direction.

Bernadette laughed. "Well, fine! If you do not care for my services, monsieur, I will leave your sight at once. Good night!" she saluted before she went to leave.

A notion suddenly clicked into Lumière's brain. "Oh! Wait a moment more,"he called, setting his rag aside.

Bernadette placed her hands firmly on her hips. " _Incroyable!_ I never thought you to be of a capricious nature! Should I stay or go?"

His smile bore clear admiration. "Well, I imagine you would not be in such a hurry to retire, if I expressed how much I wish to impart to you my gratitude."

She blinked and tilted her head. "For what?"

"For tonight, of course!"

"Oh!" She furrowed her brow. "I… did nothing."

He had to laugh at her. "That is precisely what I am thanking you for, _ma chère!_ You allowed me the opportunity to speak with your mistress alone, and it made all the difference."

Bernadette grinned. "It seemed to. So it was a productive talk?"

"Very." Lumière glanced down at his shoes before adding in a softer voice, "I want to also thank you for your trust."

Blush rose to her cheeks. She cleared her throat and waved her hand through the air in an attempt to be cavalier. "Naturally! I mean… you have given me no reason not to."

He took a step closer. "Is there anything I can do to repay your kindness? I am at your disposal."

She briefly bit her bottom lip. "That is… a very sweet offer, Lumière. Truly! But I do not need to be repaid for merely being a good Christian. Seeing that it did some good is all I need."

Lumière eyed how flustered she suddenly seemed and couldn't help but be amused. As he took to leaning against the counter, he innocently brought up, "Bernadette… you expressed to me yesterday that you have been somewhat deprived of romance in your life, non?"

She huffed a laugh and shrugged her shoulders. "I suppose so."

"That made me wonder..." That infamous smirk appeared. "Have you ever been kissed?"

Her brown eyes grew as big as saucers. Lumière somehow managed to shallow his laugh. "I do not mean to be presumptuous."

"Oh… non, of course not," she acquitted. "I only… have never been asked that question before." She eyed him with uncertainty. "Are you…?"

"Offering?" He shrugged. "Perhaps I was. I hope you can forgive me for being forthright."

Bernadette coughed out a giggle. "I suppose I am not completely surprised by it—erm, pardon my saying so."

"Ah yes," he remembered as he crossed his arms, "how much has your mistress spoke about my… penchant for intrigue?"

Her fingers fidgeted before she tucked them behind her back. "A little. But despite what she has said, either way, you are… quite a hard man to resist."

"One of the qualities I take absolute pride in," he replied.

A moment of silence passed as she stood awkwardly by. He raised an eyebrow. "Well, mademoiselle?"

"… What?"

"You never answered my question."

"Oh! Right." A meek smile drew up her pretty mouth. "You do not need to be the sacrificial lamb, monsieur. Though not to a very vast extent, I have had my own share of intrigue."

"And it is well deserved… and fondly remembered, I am sure."

"Well…" she said hastily, her face flushing. "I admit I like to recall a particular one to mind from time to time."

"Of course, but… I was referring to _them._ "

For a few seconds, Bernadette gapped at him while her expression went from confused, to contemplative, to disbelieving in a matter of seconds. "You mean that _they_ would fondly remember _me?"_

"Oh, do not act so modest!" He took her hand and gave it a pulse. "You are _charming._ I confess my offer was not entirely altruistic. I am a little curious myself if my assumptions prove true."

A smirk now on her lips, she proudly raised her chin. "I will take that as a high compliment, monsieur. Thank you."

She then spun on her heel, walked, but stopped, and thought on it another moment. She then hurried to Lumière's side, placed a fond peck on his cheek, and was out of the kitchen doors again in the blink of an eye.

* * *

If Lumière had any doubts about the progress made with Babette last night, her behavior the next day proved to stifle them. Unlike her restlessness the past week, she seemed finally able to relax, and was even content to spend their last day in Paris lounging about the hôtel.

"We have done so much in only four days, I am thoroughly exhausted," she admitted to them all at breakfast. "Besides, it does not look like the clouds will lift anytime soon."

No one else could argue. In fact, they were perfectly aligned with her feelings. A day of rest before two days of travel was only sensible.

Games of cards, charades, and even that intimate recital Nicolas had expressed excitement for earlier occurred. It was prompted by a cleverly offhand remark from the viscount when he seemed to have just noticed the harpsichord shoved into the corner of the salon. Lumière deigned to amuse him this time, but only with the promise that M. de Créquy will sing for them, too.

The maître d' swept off the blanket covering the instrument and made sure it was in-tune before he allowed their mock recital to proceed. He went first, playing a little roughly a short harpsichord suite he had practiced many times before. When he finished it with a flourish, he received rather enthusiastic applause, especially from Marc and Bernadette. He thanked them with an extravagant bow.

"Your turn, _mon ami!"_ he reminded a reluctant Nicolas.

True to his promise, and after clearing his throat, the vicomte sang a happy air in a pleasing, if hesitant, tenor timbre. When he was done, he heaved a sigh of relief and returned to sit next to his beaming fiancée.

" _Magnifique, chérie!"_ she gushed. "That was marvelous!"

"Merci," he said, blushing a bit at her praise before he gestured her forward. "After you."

Lumière couldn't remember seeing a smile fly away so quickly. She gripped her own hands in a vice. "Must I?"

The awkwardness of the answering silence only lasted a moment before Marc rose from his seat. "I may have a song to sing… if you could play the notes for me, Lumière?"

At his name, the amateur accompanist stole his eyes away from the look of relief Babette wore. "Is it a song I would know?"

Marc smiled. "You may have heard it once or twice."

When he whispered the title into Lumière's ear, he laughed out loud. "A _very_ sophisticated choice, Marc," Lumière declared before he played out the opening chords.

"Oh no…" Nicolas muttered with a humored grin on his face.

Appearing the ever confident performer, Marc sang in a lively voice:

" _Au clair de la lune, mon ami Pierrot,_

 _Prête-moi ta plume, pour écrire un mot._

 _Ma chandelle est morte, je n'ai plus de feu._

 _Ouvre-moi ta porte.._ _"_

And in an exasperated shout, cried, " _Pour l'amour de Dieu_ _!"_

Everyone burst out laughing, and his audience clapped and cheered encouragingly. Lumière could hardly keep playing in good rhythm, but Marc shot a look of warning that almost put the maître d' into hysterics. Indeed, the footman intended to finish his song.

Marc acted out the next three verses, singing about going to a brunette's home next door in the middle of the night for a quill and then not leaving her house after all, which he made sure to imbue with plenty of innuendo.

Undoubtedly, Marc won a standing ovation, even from his accompanist.

"How do I follow such a brilliant performance?" Babette asked, her blue eyes alight with amusement.

"With great courage, mademoiselle," Marc teased.

"I would agree, monsieur! And I will do so…" Her gaze fell on Lumière as she inclined her head. "… without accompaniment."

He raised a curious eyebrow. "Will you be accompanying yourself then?"

She huffed a laugh, half-rolling her eyes. "Non, I am not nearly so accomplished. You put any playing I have ever done to shame! But I must insist you be a part of the audience for at least one song."

Lumière looked pleasantly surprised, and replied with a bow, "I am never one to argue with as thoughtful a sentiment."

As she took his place on the bench, he discovered a dose of adrenaline had dropped into his veins. He had never heard her sing before, and in all honesty, he was excited. If her natural speaking voice was so luxurious and entrancing, her singing voice must be as well, no?

He wondered if, because adoring her had become as inevitable as death, she would sound lovely to him no matter what. What was the extent of his delusional devotion to this girl? Then again, he had proven that even _she_ could not escape his criticism. He recognized her faults, yet loved her nonetheless. Even loved her _for_ them.

Could Nicolas do the same?

Babette played a single note, her starting pitch, on the harpsichord, calling him back to the present. She seemed to hesitate, but then took a deep breath, and began to serenade them with her voice alone.

Even moments after she was done, Lumière couldn't have told you the words she had sung, or what the song had been about. Though her voice cracked once or twice, and perhaps her breathing was sometimes shaky due to nervousness, those petty mistakes were forgotten the very next instant. All he heard was this tender lilting, rich and warm.

She didn't have the full sophistication of a practiced singer, but there was still a maturity in her tone, rooted in an assurance not necessarily from whatever training she had received before, but from herself, and who she knew herself to be. It was the most he had heard and seen of _her_ , of the girl he had befriended at le Château du Lac, since he had begun this well-intended holiday.

Her song kept afloat in him a quiet bliss, but once she stopped and the others launched into applause, that dull pang of reality awoke from its dormancy again. She smiled and acknowledged her audience, and when her eyes met his, he realized he wasn't clapping. He blinked out of his trance and joined them, barely managing a charmed smile.

* * *

After a round of drinks, everyone decided to turn in at a reasonable hour so they could get up bright and early the next morning. Lumière certainly had every intention of doing so as well, and prayed he wouldn't be plagued with fantasies in his sleep. Thankfully, his prayers were answered: He couldn't sleep a wink.

From the moment he recognized his insomnia, he tossed and turned, intermittently staring at the ceiling, wall, or window. The clock kept ticking, and the minutes kept passing. First it was thirty of them, then a full hour.

By nine-forty, he had had it. He swept his sheets aside and walked in an endless circuit around his room, glancing about it in the hopes a distraction that could ease his hyperactive mind would jump out at him from the wallpaper.

He checked the time again: nine-fifty-five.

Gripping his temples with a growl, he stalked to the window and pushed aside its curtains to see if he was the only one who was wide-awake. The streets were fairly still. A rare carriage came and went, undoubtedly on its way home from a society gathering.

It was a clear night, however. Decent enough, it seemed, for a ride on horseback. The last time he had done that was…

Suddenly, his thoughts came to a stop. _Could I, at this hour?_ He assessed the clock. _About ten… For them, the night would still be young._

But he denied the idea. It was reckless and desperate, especially going alone.

He sat back on his bed, and yet he couldn't get himself to get under the covers. The idea had taken firm root, and it grew more appealing as the seconds progressed.

Zut alors _, I need to!_ he finally decided. With that, he hastily redressed, the excitement he was beginning to feel from the escapade only strengthening his resolve.

In coat and hat, Lumière stepped carefully across the marble-floored vestibule, past Nicolas' door, to the staircase. He declared success as he reached the first landing, the second before—

"Lumière?"

The maître d' stumbled back, tripping over the stair he has just left. Nicolas, carrying a refilled pitcher of water, suddenly appeared around the corner and looked him over from head to foot.

"What are you-? Oh, God above."

Lumière got to his feet, casually dusting himself off to regain his dignity. "There is no need to drag God into this. In fact, I think He would prefer if you didn't."

Nicolas gestured to Lumière's dashingly dressed person. "So I would imagine, based on your intended destination."

Lumière stood a little straighter. "Are you suggesting you now find fault in the occasional frolic amongst gentlewomen of the night?" he asked, unable to keep his flair for the dramatic completely out of his question.

Nicolas exuded such sober honor as he said, "As a man betrothed, yes, I do."

That almost made Lumière feel guilty… Almost. " _Mon ami,_ " he interjected with a sigh, "you have all the freedom in the world to be exemplar in your moral principles, but I have no such obligation."

Nicolas held up a silencing hand. "You did not let me finish. You do me great offense merely by the fact that… you would not even invite me."

Lumière furrowed his brow, suspicious, and his friend teasingly mimicked it. It seemed their last heartbreaking visit to that den of iniquity was no longer of consequence.

The former valet cracked a smile. "As a 'man betrothed?'"

"I am a bachelor still, am I not?" Nicolas shrugged. "I can still enjoy the view."

" _Bien sûr!"_ Lumière agreed, clapping a hand on the viscount's shoulder. "Then get changed, and we shall ride!"

* * *

Upstairs, the viscountess, to her chagrin, was having just as sleepless a night. It seemed she was becoming immune to her nightly dosage of chamomile tea. Not even a fairly interesting novel Nicolas had recommended to her could put her at ease, so she tossed it aside.

Resuming her perch on the armchair by the window, she began overlooking the street. It was a cloudless night, and a perfect one to have peaceful dreams to, yet they evaded her.

She was aware enough of the cause already. Her deceptions had become a conventional part of her daily thought patterns. She lived with them every waking moment. It was a miracle she managed to get any sleep at all.

She wrapped her robe more tightly around her.

Even after having begun reconciliation with Lumière, she would have assumed she should rest a little easier, but she was resigned. What else could she do, apart from stare outside and daydream until her body decides to slumber?

Movement below caught her eye, but upon looking, she had to blink a few times to be sure she wasn't hallucinating. Despite her efforts to refute it, the figures couldn't be mistaken: Nicolas and Lumière, in full dress, were trotting away into the night on horseback.

"What on _earth?"_ she murmured to herself, any drowsiness she had managed to obtain evaporating at the sight. "At a time like this?"

With a shot of fear, she gripped the arms of her chair and jumped to her feet. Witnessing those two go off together at this hour could only mean one thing; Lumière would certainly want to give his friend the last advantages of bachelorhood, and where better place but that infamous nightclub?

 _I had escaped there as many times as I could whenever we traveled to Paris, but it still was not as much as I wished to._

Lumière's telling of their last Parisian trip repeated itself with persistence in the back of Babette's mind as she stomped out of her room, through the gallery, and around the terrace to knock soundly on the last door down the hall. Fidgeting with her arms, she stared vehemently at its grain to will it open.

" _Allez, allez!"_ she hissed as she pounded on the wood again.

It swung open suddenly under her fist, a sleepy but startled Marc appearing behind it. "Wha—What is it—Is there a fire—Are there robbers?"

"What? Non! Marc," Babette curtly sighed as she rubbed her forehead. "You must take me to _La Fleur Noire._ "

Marc froze. "I… I am sorry, did you say, ' _La Fleur Noire?'_ Do you… know what-?"

"Yes, yes, I do, Marc, I am not ignorant," she said with impatient waves of her hands. "I know that is precisely where Lumière and Nicolas are headed to at this very moment."

"Oh." He eyed her uncomfortably. "Did they… tell you this, mademoiselle?"

Babette withheld from rolling her eyes, with much self-control. "Of course not. Call it feminine intuition for time's sake and please get dressed. I would like to catch them before they manage to do anything stupid. Meet me in the courtyard when you are ready."

Before hearing any affirmation from the stunned footman, she spun on her heel to go change her attire. "A nightclub… _L'imbécile!"_

* * *

In twenty minutes, Babette had slipped on her comfortable and indiscriminate black muslin dress and cloak to meet a frazzled Marc downstairs—except he wasn't alone.

"Bernadette!" Babette yelped. "How are you awake?" On a dime, she glared at the footman. "What is she doing here? I did not tell you to drag her into this!"

Marc shrunk under the ferocity and further proof of authority Mlle. Chantemerle could demonstrate. "Uh, I—I thought—I was only—"

"Mademoiselle, please," the maid entreated gently. "Do not criticize him too harshly. He was only thinking of my safety."

"'Safety!'" Babette barked a laugh. "Where we are going is undoubtedly _very_ unsafe—not to mention rather unsavory to someone of her sensibilities!" To her maid, she declared, "I would not _dare_ risk escorting you to this place and having such sights and sounds branded in your mind for—for trauma to fester!"

"Madem… Babette," Bernadette addressed as she stepped closer, "your concern for me is well-noted, and I thank you for it. But do not forget…" she said with a sisterly look of wisdom, "I am five years your senior. I am entirely capable of withstanding displays of another woman's body. It is not as though I am unfamiliar with it."

Bernadette said this with a smile, and Babette had to mirror it. She even had to chuckle.

"I suppose not," she agreed.

"Mademoiselle," Marc said, having found his voice, "I apologize for causing you alarm, but I could not in good conscience leave Mlle. Bernadette defenseless and alone here."

Babette pursed her lips, regrettably having to concur. "Very well. Marc, I…" She stumbled on a way to phrase it with some refinement, but instead imparted, "Thank you for having the thoughtfulness I lack."

She nodded to them. "Come," she urged, holding up her reticule containing their cab fare. "We have no time to waste."

* * *

As their escort, Marc took care of speaking with the carriage driver that crossed the path a block later. Babette noticed the driver glance strangely between them and Marc, but did as he was told once he had received his solicited coinage.

He took them through the cobbled Parisian streets in a typically busy part of town until they clearly crossed a border into another district: a darker one, with more life at this hour than the areas belonging to the upper class. Taverns' lights were lit from the windows, and loiterers in shabbier coats and skirts populated their stoops. Babette gripped her cloak more closely to her person. Where had she taken them?

The carriage turned a corner onto a small street called Rue de Grenoble, where one lamp indicated a singular black door. Nothing else indicated what occurred inside its building.

Before Babette left the carriage, she pulled her hood over her head and motioned for Bernadette to do the same, and they swiftly went through the door as though the nightcrawlers would overtake them.

A long, dim hallway opened up into a dark and smoky room filled with men of all classes. They were carousing, drinking, and laughing at small tables, each lit by a single candle, but every patron had his chair facing the stage at the end of the room. A few women in only richly colored corsets and heightened skirts mingled amongst the crowd, chatting and joking with their customers and very consciously angling their bodies and faces for the best displays.

Babette tugged at the lip of her hood and ducked her head, hiding her eyes from view. "Find a table near them."

Bernadette stood on her tiptoes to see over the heads of gentlemen and girls, but there was a moment where none of them said they had found them. Babette begin to have a creeping doubt. Had she taken them to the wrong place entirely?

Before a wave of mortification could hit its peak, her maid pointed. "Oh, I see them! They are against the far wall."

"Merci," Babette released in a breath of relief before she lowered her maid's hood so her innocent looking mien could also be partially obscured. "Follow me."

Marc's mouth was set, his back, rigid, and his eyes, alert. "I will walk behind," he announced.

While walking as smoothly as possible, Babette led their line between the occupied chairs, and made sure to never even graze the back of them with her cloak.

"Oh, sorry! Didn't see you there!"

The butterflies in her stomach fluttered in a figure-eight formation. She stopped and glanced carefully behind her, but her worry was abated. Marc was only waving off an accidental elbow to the shin from an excited storyteller.

She took a deep breath, though it hardly stemmed her jitters.

In a few more steps, they made it to the only empty table, and its two rickety chairs that wobbled at their touch.

"I can see why these weren't taken," Marc observed before gesturing to one of them for Bernadette.

"She will share with me, Marc," Babette ordained. "Please sit."

She then blew out the candle on the table to better hide themselves in plain sight. Casually sweeping her eyes over the crowd, they landed on the regular _bons amis._

At the sight of them, Babette tensed like a cat about to pounce. One of those showgirls, having delivered their drinks, was encouraged to enjoy the third tankard, as well as to become comfortable on Lumière's lap.

A long dormant reaction to being witness to such an act awakened and caused her face to flush, especially when Lumière took to whispering things into the girl's ear.

The most sensible notion finally revealed itself to her: _Look away!_

She ducked her head and stretched out her clawed fingers against the table. Though she tried to clear her mind, one word persistently remained. _Selfish._

Babette straightened in her seat as much as she could without bumping shoulders with Bernadette and acted like she was turning her face away from the boys to avoid detection. "We need to drag those two out of here, but… not while one of those girls is keeping them occupied."

"Well…" Bernadette began, eyeing the men's table with some discomfort. "M. de Créquy is available."

Furrowing her brow, Babette turned her gaze toward the boys again, but saw Nicolas was now alone.

"Where did…?" she was about to ask but stopped herself. She wasn't sure if she wanted to hear the answer aloud.

"He left with…" Bernadette started, but she didn't seem able to finish voicing her thoughts either.

The fire Babette had just put out erupted without warning, and with a vengeance. _Two can play,_ growled a long-unheard and stunningly clear voice inside her.

She abruptly came to her feet and sauntered over to where Nicolas unassumingly sat while Marc's and Bernadette's hushed calls to her went unheeded.

To think, poor Nicolas had been smitten with one of these showgirls at first sight only a couple years ago. Babette couldn't help but wonder if he had really overcome all of the residual attraction to this place and the treasures it held. As an unmarried man, it was only natural to crave a tenderness seemingly reserved for the wedding bed alone. Her fiancé was to be pitied all the more, because he had no idea the kind of care she could show him.

 _A taste could not hurt,_ she easily persuaded herself, letting her hood fall.

Nicolas glanced up, having begun watching the new act on stage. He shot out of his seat so quickly, he almost dropped his mug of ale. " _Babette?_ Oh _Dieu,_ I—I am…" But he did not need to say more; Even in the scarce lighting, Babette saw a pall cast over his face. Taking pause, he blinked at her. "How… How did you know-?"

" _Ssshh,_ "Babette gently silenced, setting his tankard down for him to take his hand. "Do not let the 'how' and 'why' trouble you. What matters is that I found you safe and sound." She giggled. "But bored to tears, I see."

The uncertainty stayed on his features, but he grinned at her observation. "It seems you have arrived in the nick of time. But…" His gaze became laced with concern. "Did you travel here alone or-?"

"Nicolas, please," she murmured, her smile meant to comfort and entice. "I insist you relax. I'm here, am I not?"

He let the matter be put to rest, at least temporarily. He resumed his seat and opened his mouth to speak, but Babette found her voice first. "Nicolas, I must admit… I cannot help feeling a bit hurt to find you in a place like this," she said with an adorable pout as she leaned against the table. "But I understand."

Such an endearing form of shame crowded his expression. "Babette, I know how this looks, I—I didn't intend to—"

"Oh no, _chérie!_ I do not blame you in the slightest! Truly, what are establishments like this for? But to see you alone!" She leaned in closer to whisper, "Are these girls so insipid?"

"No, not at all! They—I was…" He cleared his throat, able to regain some of his composure. "I am only an onlooker. Nothing more."

"An onlooker?" she repeated with wonder. "I do not really believe that is what you want to be."

"Even if it was true… you know I cannot be anything more than that."

"I know no such thing!" she huffed. "Society demands propriety in public, yet it breeds hypocrisy in private. That is only to be expected." Leaning forward, she purred, "But you would not be one of them if you decided to let yourself be tempted."

Unable to detect her implications, Nicolas replied rather confusedly, "Babette, I'm… sorry. What are you trying to say?"

Babette pouted again at his incomprehension and resumed her usual good posture. "I suppose this is why men have liaisons; they cannot see the woman right in front of their noses." Sweeping he hand along his arm, she smiled sweetly at him. "Nicolas, would you mind if I took a seat?"

"O—Of course," he complied to with a gallant gesture towards the empty chair across from him, but Babette disregarded it as she established herself across his legs.

"There," Babette said happily as she draped her arms along his shoulders. "Now you can see me just fine, oui?"

Flustered to temporary speechlessness, Nicolas did not look like he had been prepared in the slightest. "Babette, uh… I—I am in awe of your attentions, but I—"

"Oh, come, do not patronize me," she scolded. "I understand well my reputation precedes me no matter what I might do. And as sweet as it was for you to try to ignore it, those kinds of attempts will be of no help to you at this very moment. I want you to be _excited_ about how we will eventually be!" she urged with a delectable smirk as she adjusted herself so that she was straddling him. "And there is nothing wrong… with offering a small sample of what is to come."

Even if Nicolas was not made mute by all of this, he found his mouth had suddenly become preoccupied. He instinctively tensed at so sudden a breach on his person, but slowly and surely, he let himself acclimate to it. Her lips were practiced after all, and they _were_ betrothed. Harm could not really come from this, could it?

He soon welcomed her embrace and returned it, encircling his arms about her waist, which satisfied Babette, for she had hoped that when he had accepted her, that breath-taking passion of an ardent kiss would finally emerge. To her astonishment, and on the contrary, the desire to continue faded as quickly as it had come.

She parted from him, making sure to hide her disappointment with a mischievous smile. But before she could speak, Nicolas' gaze was diverted to something behind her. "My apologies, _mon ami,_ " he said with a meek smile.

Babette immediately followed his eyes, but regretted it instantly. Lumière appeared frozen to the spot not four feet away from her, his expression unreadable.

Detaching herself from Nicolas, she mustered her bravado and inquired, "Surprised to see me?"

Lumière's nostrils flared, but he didn't respond. He then broke eye contact with her and strode past them, breathing out a tight "excuse me" in passing.

Both watched him leave, and Babette felt the familiar and unwarranted guise of guilt sink slowly into her gut. The sensible side of her conscience chastised, _Was such a spectacle really what he deserved?_

 _Me and my poor impulses,_ she thought with shame, kicking herself.

Nicolas rose to his feet to stand by her, perplexed. "Will you come with me to check on him?"

She placed a hand on his chest. "I know I am not as well acquainted with him as you, but I believe… we should let him be for now."

He sighed. "Perhaps you're right. It probably was for that woman he had left with. He would not have been back so quickly otherwise."

Babette glanced at him as she processed his words. Nicolas seemed to have his own reservations that implied something different from what he had spoken, but she chose not to pursue the matter. "Shall we call for a carriage?"

"For you, yes. Lumière and I rode our horses here, however, so we will escort you back to Beauvais."

Wearing a wry grin, she inquired, "Do you still believe I came here alone? I can assure you, I am not so reckless as that. Marc and Bernadette both accompanied me."

His shoulders visibly eased. "I am glad to hear it, if only for the fact that you had company." He waved at the table Babette referred to, and the footman and maid acknowledged it.

"Here, you must be parched. Take my ale to drink and I will fetch you three a carriage," he said, grabbing his own chair and bringing it with him for Babette to have a seat by their friends.

She watched Nicolas trace a path through the crowd as she cupped the mug between her hands. Though she was thirsty, she knew alcohol would not mix well with her guilt.

When she passed her eyes over the two across from her, she saw Bernadette was doing her best to hide a smile. Marc, on the other hand, was keeping his eyes averted, an awkwardness emanating off of him. The idea of muttering an apology for her brazen display came to her mind, but it might only elevate his discomfort.

She decided to watch the stage instead, for nothing else was available to truly distract her outside excruciating conversation. But even the lithe movements of the current dancer could not drive the remembrance of such a lukewarm embrace with the man she was expected to marry, while also recalling a time when a kiss had been wonderfully and ecstatically passionate.

What was _wrong_ with her?

* * *

Lumière thought he had felt his heart stop. It had been the cruelest sight he had ever beheld in his life.

The want—the _need—_ for distraction, even for just one night, was the entire reason he had come to _La Fleur Noire._ He had felt he could revel in a few blissful moments, including those spent with one of the girls alone. Yet his heart, the stupid organ, apparently had the devoutness of a saint; The memories of more captivating conversation and more amorous caresses from another woman persisted unfailingly. Could none other ever satisfy him again?

That depressing question continued to haunt him as he sat in the small stable outside of the nightclub where their horses were hitched.

And then what had he discovered upon his return? The very same mademoiselle who unknowingly kept him fettered, with her legs and arms locked around his best friend. The image was now engraved in his mind for who knew how long, and damn her for it.

Lumière leaned his forehead into his hands. If this was how he had reacted to them caught in a lovers' position, how could he handle the sight of their wedding, their daily affections to each other as a married couple… when they would eventually have children? Could this girl cause the end of a twenty-year-long friendship?

He suddenly became aware of the loneliness that loomed in the near future, but he refused it to be a possibility.

 _I will overcome this,_ he determined. _If I want to keep Nicolas in my life, I_ must _overcome this._

* * *

 _This chapter is dedicated to LumBabsFan, whom I consider the highest authority on everything that is Lumière and Babette. For those who don't know or recall, **La Fleur Noire** is an original creation of hers; It is the main setting of her origin fic for Babette, **Les Fleurettes,** and is also a setting in the story that follows, **Questionable Romance**. If you have not read either of those, I HIGHLY recommend them, whether you're a devout Lumi/Babs shipper or not. She gave these two characters such depth and realism that inspired me to initially write **Noble Sentiments**. I am forever indebted to her for that!_

 _I must thank her as well for allowing me to pick her brain about her infamous nightclub so I could do her creation justice. My description received her full approval! What you read is accurate to how she has envisioned it._


End file.
